


The Failed Colony

by skimmingthesurface, SylviaW1991



Series: Mystery Best Friends [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Share a Brain Cell (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Communication Failure, Crowley Has All the Genders (Good Omens), Demonic Possession, Family Bonding, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Mild Language, Mystery Best Friends, Panic Attacks, Post-Series, Sass, Slight Canon Divergence, awkward 6000 year old celestial beings romance, awkward teen romance, pinescone, the crossover no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 154,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: After millions of texts and dozens of video chats over the long wait between winter and summer, the Mystery Best Friends are ready for a summer full of fun and romance in Gravity Falls.After too many years of waiting and planning, something else waits in the shadows. And this time, he has Hellish help and enough power to draw the attention of one angel and one demon who would so much rather be doing anything other than trying to prevent another Armageddon.---Updates on Mondays!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Dipper Pines/Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: Mystery Best Friends [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/236121
Comments: 155
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the last chapter of Radio Silence was posted in 2015... it is now 2020, yes. Honestly, this part isn't anything like we expected it would have been when we originally planned on six parts for this series, but we had the best time writing it and it really rekindled the energy for this series that faded over the years. We know the hype for Gravity Falls and Over the Garden Wall has long since passed over the years, but hopefully those of you that were waiting for more from this universe can enjoy coming back to wrap things up.
> 
> We've also added another crossover to this madness. The hype is real for Good Omens, and it may seem like the strangest timing to bring those characters in this late in the game, we feel like it really works. It's all just ridiculous enough that it works. You don't have to have read or watched Good Omens to follow along in this fic, but if you do plan on watching it someday, we're warning now that we do discuss certain plot elements that will no longer be a surprise when you watch it. We'll try and put warnings in all the chapters where a spoiler might come up.
> 
> This is the final big story in the Mystery Best Friends 'verse. Anything else will likely be a side story. We hope you enjoy it and have fun on this adventure with us!

_We’re here._

Wirt’s hand trembled as the message sent, cell phones allowed to be turned back on with the private jet rolling up to its gate. They were here. Lifting his head from the screen to look out the window, his heart skipped several beats when it was Oregon’s tarmac and trees he was looking at instead of Massachusetts’s.

Eager babbling bubbled up from the seat behind him, his little brother having taken full advantage of the fact that being on a private plane meant he could move freely about the cabin almost constantly. Greg had changed his seat nearly two dozen times despite there only being eight seats to choose from, but had settled on the one behind Wirt as they began their descent and seatbelts became a must. In direct contrast to the eight-year-old, Wirt and the owner of what could most definitely be considered the lap of luxury had more or less stayed put for the length of the flight.

And now it was over. It was officially summer. The sun was only just beginning its downward descent, the time difference making the six hour flight seem like only three had passed. Though Wirt had certainly felt every single minute of those six hours and continued to feel them as his heart only sped up the longer it took for the plane to settle. For them to disembark. To see Dipper. It had been too long. Four months was absolutely too long. Shorter than they’d initially thought, yes, but still too long. 

His new phone lit up with a message - his mom insisted on getting him a smartphone if he was going to spend the entire summer on the other side of the country. Wirt wasn’t sure how having a new phone eased her mind since his old phone had called and texted just fine, which was all one really needed to keep in contact with one’s parents, but he didn’t put up a fuss, eager and willing to do whatever he needed to in order to spend three full months with the boy he loved and his practically-sister. Not to mention, he might’ve had a little too much fun personalizing every detail of the twins in his phone, from ringtones to text tones to contact pictures.

“Are they here? Are they gonna meet us? Where are they going to meet us? Are we gonna have dinner with them? Did they already have dinner? If they did, can we have another dinner?” Greg fired question after question at him, holding onto the back of Wirt’s seat and shaking it with each inquiry. 

Wirt laughed as he texted Dipper back a heart symbol. “Greg, you already ate dinner, remember?” Another perk of private jets was the private, fancy food. Though Wirt had been too excited to partake, his stomach a queasy, twisting mess, he had to admit that whatever Pacifica and Greg had eaten looked incredible for an airplane. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t eat dinner with Mabel and Dipper,” Greg protested. 

“Maybe they’ll pick you up something on the way home if they’re feeling generous.” Wirt turned just enough in his seat to flick Greg’s forehead, grinning when his brother swatted his hand away. 

“There’s no maybe, Wirt. If I ask, they’ll do it.”

“You’re so spoiled by them, I swear.” Wirt shook his head, gaze going back to his phone, clutching it tightly, still his constant link to his boyfriend despite finally being in the same time zone, the same state, and the same building soon enough. 

It was Greg’s turn to grin as the jet came to a stop. “Not any more than I am by you.” From the seat beside him, their lucky frog croaked his agreement. 

Seconds after they were free to disembark, Greg was up with Jason Funderburker tucked under his arm and his carry-on slung over his shoulder, bounding over to the jet’s entrance. Wirt slipped his phone into his pocket, his own carry-on grabbed as he stood to follow. Minutes. They were mere minutes from them now.

“Thanks for letting us ride with you in your fancy jet, Pacifica!” Greg chirped as the door opened. 

Though it had been awkward at first, Wirt having barely spoken to her the first time they’d been to Gravity Falls and never without Dipper, shortly after the first hour it had become easier to breathe without fearing he’d offend her or anything by existing. He managed a small, but grateful, smile and nod. “Yeah, thank you. Definitely- uh… definitely beats flying coach.” 

Greg’s brow furrowed as he considered that, looking to their frog. “We’ve never been on a flying coach before, have we?” Though it sounded like a really cool thing to do in his opinion.

Since the question was more directed to Jason Funderburker, both teens ignored it. “So, um… Yeah, thanks.” Wirt cleared his throat, having to snag Greg by the collar of his shirt to keep him from darting right off the plane and allowing Pacifica to go first. 

She flicked her hair as she strode by. “You are _not_ the worst company I've ever had on this plane, so it's whatever. Plus, it's really nice how often you guys have used this thing. Goffrey finally has something to do.”

So far it had mostly been the twins’ doing, Wirt too nervous to ask back when they’d flown to California in February, but he smiled and nodded just the same. “Right. Yeah. Okay, Greg, walk don’t run.” He released his little brother, who surprisingly decided that walking was a perfectly acceptable method of moving. 

“I can’t wait to see Dipper and Mabel. Do you think they’ll notice I’m taller than the last time we saw them? ‘Cause I am! I’m taller by two whole inches! Mom measured me again before we left and it’s definitely two, not one and three quarters like you said, Wirt. But don’t say anything, I want to see if they know I grew two inches. Do you think they’ll still be able to carry me on their shoulders?”

“Well, let’s see.” Wirt flashed him a grin, then nabbed Greg around the middle and swung him and Jason Funderburker up to sit on his shoulders. His brother was almost too big for it, yes, and the backpack only made it more difficult, but he could carry him for a little bit and that was what mattered. “Oh, I think they can more than manage this.” Wirt nodded seriously, bouncing Greg as he giggled. “Want to stay up there or go back to walking?”

“I’ll stay up here for now, maybe go back to walking in a minute,” he replied. 

In a minute meant as soon as they were in the terminal, Greg wiggling to get down in a hurry to find where people met up with the arrivals. Pacifica had already left them in the proverbial dust, whisked off to her limo as soon as they set foot off the plane, even though they were heading to the same little town. It was probably for the best, it’d likely be a tight squeeze between all of them if they had to cram into the backseat of Grunkle Stan’s car, or even in the SUV Dipper and Mabel were allowed to keep over the summer. Wirt had seen the trunks and bags being loaded up in Pacifica’s jet before they left. There wouldn’t have been room for six people with all that luggage.

Wirt let Greg down when his heel dug firmly into his sternum. The boy followed the arrows guiding them, impatiently hopping from foot to foot when he thought his brother was taking too long. While Wirt kept a close eye on him the whole time, his pace was not quite at Greg’s speed. But his footfalls were still hasty as he looked for the signs that would lead them to where they’d meet up with-

“Dipper! Wirt, look, I see his hat! Hi, Dipper! Hi, Mabel!” Greg shouted, standing on his tiptoes to wave frantically before running over to them. “We made it!”

Wirt did see his hat, his heart clenching and rising to his throat as he spied the familiar pine tree emblem and faded blue fabric amidst the other airport patrons. Clutching his satchel, he quickly followed Greg’s trajectory, smile growing as the distance between them was steadily erased. Mystery Best Friends reunited again. 

It was only closed faster once the twins heard Greg’s excitement. Since the boy reached them first, Dipper swung him up in a tight squeeze. He noticed the height difference immediately, two inches noticeable on someone still so small. “Oh my god, you're growing.”

Mabel giggled, snatching him away, and gasped. “I think he might be too big for the basket on my bike. What do you think, Dipdop?”

The twins exchanged matching, secretive grins before Dipper’s attention shifted. As thrilled as he was to see Greg, his grin somehow brightened when he was finally, finally, _finally_ able to wrap his arms around his boyfriend's neck. His hello was a happy little noise, lost in a kiss.

Wirt pressed his lips back against his firmly, head spinning from having Dipper close enough to touch, close enough to hold. He pulled him flush against his chest, arms banded around his waist as his own small, breathless laugh slipped out amidst the kiss. It had been the longest they’d gone without seeing each other, and now it would be cushioned with the longest time they’d have together yet. An entire summer. He could already taste it on Dipper’s lips, the familiar and dearly missed contact made only sweeter by the months stretched ahead of them.

“Hi,” he had to murmur giddily when the kiss broke, beaming at him.

“Hi. Oh my god, hi. You're here. It's summer and you’re _here_.” Dipper’s hands gripped his shoulders, slid down his arms only to travel back up. “Hi, Wirt.”

Wirt lifted his hands to frame his face, gently caressing his cheeks as he drank in the sight of him. “Hi, Dipper,” he breathed, then drew him in for a softer, shorter kiss. “I’m here. We’re here. Oh my gosh, I almost can’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it if we hadn’t just spent six hours on a plane, but wow. _Wow_. Dipper.” He was ready to start bouncing, to spin him around, to press close and never let go. “I love you.”

Dipper laughed, grin unable to be contained. “I love you, too. It’s been way too long since I got to say that to your face.”

“One hundred and sixteen days,” Wirt confirmed, letting his hands fall from his face to hug him tightly again. “I know it goes without saying, but I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you pretty much constantly.” Dipper rested his cheek on his boyfriend’s shoulder, fingers curling into his sweater to keep him as close as possible. “Now I've got you for the whole summer.” 

“I’m all yours.” The thought inspired a flurry of butterflies as Wirt squeezed him, feeling as though he was falling in love with him all over again, memories of their last summer like a lifetime ago. “And you’re all mine.”

“And mine and Mabel’s,” Greg piped up. “And the creatures that we’re gonna see and the town’s and-”

“Okay, okay, maybe not _all_ mine,” Wirt sighed, completely over-exaggerated as he couldn’t stop grinning, and eased out of the hug to shift his gaze to the other two members of their little family, specifically the one he didn’t see everyday. “Hi, Mabel.” He held his arms out for the inevitable, squeezing, enthusiastic embrace she had in store, a homey warmth filling him as his cheek brushed against her sweater when her arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

She bounced, clinging to him while Dipper took Greg’s backpack and swung him onto his shoulders. “Hi, Wirt! Oh my gosh, I'm so happy you're here! I missed you so, so, so, so, so much!”

“I missed you, too,” he laughed, happy to let her cling and bounce. 

“Did you guys eat dinner yet? It’s kinda late, so it’s okay if you did. It’s even later for us though! If we were at home, it’d be waaaay past my bedtime! But I’m not tired. I’m not tired at all!” Greg babbled as he tried to balance Jason Funderburker on top of Dipper’s head, the frog taking it in stride. 

“Not yet.”

“Which is awful because I'm withering away,” Mabel claimed. She broke the hug, but not the contact, her arm looping around Wirt's. “But somebody was too excited to stop the car.”

“Well somebody else made us run late.”

Mabel's bright smile was all innocence. “You hungry, Wirt?”

“Probably will be in a few minutes. I was kinda too excited to eat before we got here,” he admitted, smile sheepish as he fortified the link between their arms. “But first we should probably get our bags.”

“To the carousel!” Greg pointed ahead of them.

“Greg, the baggage claim is the other direction.”

Greg moved where his hand was pointing to. “To the carousel!”

Dipper laughed, bouncing Greg fondly as they led the way to baggage claim. Mabel resisted the urge to skip. “Our Grunkle Ford is waiting in the car, by the way. You get to actually meet him!”

“Oh, wow. Already?” Nerves prickled at his skin at the thought of meeting someone so important to two people who were so important to him. “Is he going to be at the shack all summer, too?” Wirt asked curiously. “Or is he still traveling around occasionally?”

“Maybe and maybe.”

“Honestly, Grunkle Ford didn't spend a lot of time in Gravity Falls after coming back through the portal, but after last summer he found out that a lot’s actually changed in thirty years. So he kind of wants to spend the summer figuring out just how much really did,” Dipper explained.

“With a certain someone’s help,” Mabel added.

Cheeks pinkening in embarrassed delight, Dipper squirmed. “Well, it's not like he seriously _needs_ my help. I mean, he wrote the journals. He’s- He just offered to be nice. You know, because, y’know. We're family.”

“Of course he needs your help, Dipper!” Greg chirped, reaching down to poke one of his cheeks. “You wrote your own journal, too! And you’re a paranormal genius!”

“He’s got a point,” Wirt chimed in, grinning at his adorable, flustered boyfriend. “Nobody knows more about the anomalies of Gravity Falls than you.”

“Well, _he_ does. Most of what I know, he wrote.”

“Dinosaurs, Gobblewonker, the other lake monster, the candy thief, the Summerween Trickster, the-”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, cutting off Mabel’s list. “So there's one or two things we've come across that he didn't. We're here. Baggage claim. Time to get bags.”

Huffing out a laugh, Wirt slipped his arm from Mabel’s and brushed past his boyfriend, giving him a peck on the cheek mostly just because he had the freedom to, and partly because he was still really cute when he blushed. “Yes, sir, admiral.”

“Wirt, Wirt, get mine, too!” Greg waved at him for his attention. 

The older brother snorted. “Get your own.”

“I can’t. I’m too high up. My arms can’t reach.” He held out the arm not supporting Jason Funderburker as if to prove how impossible it would be to grab his bag.

There was a simple solution, however. “Then have Dipper put you down.”

“I don’t want to.”

Wirt shrugged. “Guess no suitcase for you, then.” His grin broke through as he turned to face the rotating conveyor belt swarmed with bags while Greg huffed. Of course he’d grab his bag when it came around, but this was part of his duty as an older brother, wasn’t it? 

Greg’s came around first, the bright green suitcase hard to miss, so Wirt nabbed it and swung it over to set at Dipper’s feet. “Never say I didn’t do you any favors,” he directed at Greg.

Mabel took it, grinning. “Wirt, you're such a brat!”

He made sure to look offended before grabbing his suitcase next. “I’m sorry, I don’t see how having a lazy brother makes me the brat.”

“You’re definitely the brat. _I’m_ certainly not the brat,” Greg pointed out, “so it has to be you.”

“Pretty sure your logic is flawed.” Wirt set his suitcase down with a huff, the oversized bag not only stuffed with sweaters, but also his clarinet case, and pulled up the handle so he could wheel it comfortably.

“He seems pretty on target to me,” Mabel teased.

Dipper laughed, still basking in having his family together. The four of them, a solid unit for the entire summer. “Because your logic’s just as flawed.”

Wirt beamed at him, bumping their hips together as he started walking. “Thanks for having my back, boyfriend.”

“He _has_ to say things like that ‘cause you’re going out,” Greg giggled.

“I can put you down,” Dipper warned, finding his boyfriend’s free hand to lace their fingers.

“You won’t though. You love me too much.” Greg puffed out his chest, chin held high as he grinned.

“I'll still love you while you're on the ground.”

“Yeah, but in a few years I’ll always be on the ground, and you’ll never get back the golden years of my youth so you’ve gotta enjoy carrying me while it lasts!” Greg poked his cheek again. “Or you can give me to Mabel.”

“I think Greg’s getting smarter. This isn't good.”

“It’s great!” Mabel giggled, abandoning the suitcase to steal Greg away and rub their cheeks together. “Now we're going to cause all kinds of mischief.”

“And that's why it's not good,” Dipper laughed, nabbing the smaller suitcase.

“Welcome to my life.” Wirt squeezed Dipper's hand, caught up in the astonishment of being able to after months of distance between them. His gaze was trained on his face, the curve of his lips, and his heart sang at the sound of his laugh. They were really together again, no crises forcing them and not for so short a time that other people wondered if it was even worth it. It always was, but he wasn't going to lie and say three months didn't absolutely blow three days out of the water. June, July, August. It was going to be a great summer.

Wirt brought his hand to his lips for a brief kiss while his brother described the perks of his particular brand of mischief on the way to the car. 

Grunkle Ford stepped out of the SUV, prepared to help them put suitcases and bags in the trunk, his gaze both curious and measuring when he scanned the two half-brothers. Dipper let go of Greg’s suitcase to gesture. “Meet the author of the journals.”

“Our grunkle!” Mabel chirped. “As you can see, sweaters are a very fashionable family trait. Grunkle Ford, this is Greg and Wirt!”

Though Ford was indeed wearing a turtleneck, he didn't wear sweaters as consistently as she did. There was no attempt to correct his great-niece, however, his gaze lingering on Wirt an extra moment before he was nodding and extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Wirt swallowed and shook it, hardly noting the six fingers in lieu of hoping his handshake didn’t seem too jerky or clammy and that he came off as a relatively sane and normal person fit to be dating his great-nephew. Despite the turtleneck sweater, he still seemed like a pretty intimidating guy. He kinda had to be if he’d been the one to write everything in the three journals Dipper kept in his possession, among other dimension-related things.

“Hi, it’s- it’s nice to meet you, too,” Wirt replied, priding himself on not stuttering too much. “Thank you for letting us stay with you this summer.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Greg waved from Mabel’s arms, grinning. “We’ve been looking forward to it since- um… well, last summer!” 

“I couldn't exactly say no since Stanley had already agreed.”

“You wouldn't say no anyway,” Mabel pointed out, bouncing to the trunk. She set Greg down before opening it. “Get your stuff, guys! I'm hungry, so our priority is food!”

“I second that priority!” Greg announced, raising his hand before gently taking one of their frog’s arms and lifting it next. “Jason Funderburker thirds it.”

“Okay, okay.” Wirt took up his suitcase and lifted it into the back, then reached for Greg’s and set it beside his. “There. Can’t have you three wasting away.”

“There's four of us wasting away.” Dipper patted his very empty stomach. “We can stop at a drive thru, right, Grunkle Ford?”

“Well, you're driving.”

He grinned. “Seriously?”

“Sure. You did great on the drive over here. Just don't let having your boyfriend in the passenger seat distract you.”

Dipper practically preened, eyes sparkling at the praise as well as from the idea of having Wirt beside him. “Thanks, Grunkle Ford.”

Heart giving a happy little flutter, Wirt beamed simply from the sight of his adorable boyfriend being, well, adorable. That plus the fact that they’d get to sit together in the front of a car like an actual couple. It was exciting, something that they didn’t often have a chance to do.

“Yeah, thank you, Mr. Pines. I promise I’ll do what I can to be as little of a distraction as possible,” he assured him.

“I'm sure you'll try. Come on, kids.” Ford shut the trunk and gestured. “Let's get going.”

“Woo!” Mabel cheered. “Summer of fun and adventures is happening!” She danced to the back door and swung it open, a pig oinking from his car seat. “Waddles has missed you, too, I promise.”

Shaking his head, Ford climbed in to sit behind the driver's seat. “Let's go! Your summer adventures won't start in a parking lot.”

While Mabel bundled Greg and Jason Funderburker into the back, Dipper cupped his boyfriend’s face and lifted to his toes for a soft kiss. “I love you, Wirt. I'm all yours all summer, and you're all mine.”

With a quiet sound born of contentment, Wirt nuzzled the palms pressed to his cheeks. His fingers curled in Dipper’s shirt, just over his chest so he could hold onto him for a minute as he returned the sweet kiss with one of his own. A taste of what was to come when it was just them for the night, wrapped up in each other, catching up with one another with soft words and hushed laughter and gentle touches. 

“I love you, too. You’re all I want. All summer, all year. I’ll never get enough of you.” Wirt brushed their noses together. “Though for now we should probably get in the car before your grunkle changes his mind and drives off without us.”

“Yeah. If you wanted to maybe hold my hand and stuff once we reach the highway, I can promise that won't be distracting.”

He held on another second before withdrawing, grin bright and pleased before climbing behind the wheel. Once seatbelts were clicked and his mirrors checked, Dipper pulled out of the parking spot and off they went towards Gravity Falls and the Mystery Shack.

It looked no different, but for the S in Shack. It, surprisingly, was in place. “Grunkle Ford fixed it,” Dipper explained as they gathered their things from the trunk, buzzing with familial pride. “But it likely won't stay long. We're under the impression that it's cursed.”

Mabel helped her pig out, Waddles climbing the porch steps ahead of them and flopping right onto Grunkle Stan's slippers. The old man grimaced, scratching his stomach as he stared down at him from his seat on the couch. “Get off, pig.” Waddles’s oink was unsympathetic.

“Hi, Grunkle Stan!” Greg waved enthusiastically, following Waddles up to the porch with Jason Funderburker. “We’re here to burgle your turts!”

“Greg, they don’t even have turtles,” Wirt pointed out. 

“Because we already burgled them.” Greg placed his hands on his hips, or tried to with one arm holding Jason Funderburker, and held his chin high. “That’s how good we are.”

“Obviously,” Mabel agreed, giggling at the way Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes as if he hadn't been out there specifically to wait for them.

“Greg, come get your suitcase. Don’t make Dipper carry it for you.” Wirt nodded for him to hop back down the porch steps, then waved hesitantly at Stan, still mildly intimidated by the man’s gruff demeanor. “Hi, Mr. Pines. It’s good to see you again.”

“You guys have, like, a million Mr. Pines in your family,” Greg told Dipper.

He laughed. “Yeah, the Y chromosome is strong in this family. We don’t know how Mabel happened.”

“The world needed me,” she claimed. “There’s too much testosterone around here.”

“Sorry we just gave you more brothers instead of sisters, Mabel. Be strong.” Greg reached up and gave her side a pat before placing Jason Funderburker down and grabbing at the handle of his suitcase. 

“I think I’ll survive, Greg, thanks.” She giggled, skipping up to the porch to sit beside her pig at Grunkle Stan’s feet. He grunted at her much as he had Waddles, rolling his eyes when she grinned at him.

Dipper’s eyes rolled, too, but only because he recognized that she was getting out of bringing suitcases inside. As usual. He bumped his hip to Wirt’s, grabbing the smaller of his and Greg’s bags. “Come on. Let’s get you guys unpacked and stuff.”

“I want to live out of my suitcase like a traveling vagabond with no destination, no responsibilities, and no microwave dinners.” Greg looked to the horizon, determination etched on his face as he clenched his fist. 

Wirt ruffled his hair as he passed him, following Dipper inside. “Even vagabonds take the time to unpack their things if they have shelter for an entire summer.”

Greg narrowed his gaze, right on their tail. “How do you know? Have you ever been a vagabond?”

“No, but that’s what I’d do if I was,” Wirt laughed when his younger brother kicked at his ankle.

“That doesn’t count,” he told him with a giggle. “Dipper, tell him that doesn’t count!”

“Sorry, Greg, but it totally counts.” Dipper grinned back at him. “Besides, traveling vagabonds don't stay in one place for long. You're sticking around here, aren't you?”

He pretended to think about it. “Do I get to sleep in Mabel’s room?” 

“Pretty sure we can arrange that.”

“Then okay. I’ll stick around. I like Mabel’s room.” Greg grinned, then darted ahead of them to dash up the stairs, gasping and cheering over how everything looked the same from the last time they were there while Wirt bumped his hip to Dipper’s, the wealth of affection he had for him swelling at the wave of nostalgia from their previous visit.

They left Greg to Mabel’s room as he plopped down and eagerly began to unpack despite his earlier sentiment, then took the rest of the stairs to the attic. A lump grew in Wirt’s throat as Dipper pushed open his bedroom door. His breath caught at the wooden, dusty smell from only having been lived in for a week so far, mixed with the scent of the detergent that seemed to cling to Dipper’s clothes and sheets. Even though he’d been to Dipper’s bedroom in Piedmont, the one that his boyfriend lived in for the majority of the year, this was the room that felt most like him. This was the room where they first shared a bed, wary of touching and hesitant to press close.

It felt like coming home, even if it wasn’t actually, and Wirt was absolutely okay with that. “The window’s fixed,” was the first thing he breathed, then laughed at himself because of course it was. It had been a year. 

“That's the first thing I said, too.” Dipper shrugged, grinning at him. Then he tugged Wirt's suitcase away, setting it and his bag on the floor. “Be responsible and unpack in a minute. Come on.” 

He tugged his boyfriend to the bed, getting him to lay down before climbing on after him, pillowing his head on his shoulder. It bumped his cap, so he removed it for maximum cuddling, and sighed in simple relief at being able to band an arm around Wirt’s waist and hold on. “You're seriously here. It's really summer.”

“Finally.” Wirt rubbed his cheek to his hair, then buried his face in the fluffy curls. One leg slipped between Dipper’s, while one hand picked at his shirt, resting right over his heart. “I don’t think I could’ve lasted much longer without seeing you. ‘Lost as a candle lit at noon. Lost as a snowflake in the sea.’ That is me without you, for I am yours. Lost in you is all I long to be.”

Dipper tightened his grip because he could, because he had to. It'd been too long since he'd been able to. Too long since poetry hadn’t been delivered through a screen - be it a video chat or text message. “The first night here was awful. Virtually the last time I was in this bed, you were with me, and I still had another week to wait.”

“I know. You kept texting me frowny faces.” Wirt couldn’t help grinning, the aching loneliness he’d felt at the time when he knew Dipper was in Gravity Falls while he was stuck with finals week felt like a lifetime ago now that he was in his arms. “Which says a lot considering I’m usually the one overusing the smilies. But I’m here now. You’ll have a whole summer of me snuggling you in this bed. There’s no escape.” He shifted and wrapped both of his arms around him to emphasize his point. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m trying so hard to escape.” He tipped his head back, brushing kisses along his jaw. “Such a struggle.”

“You should just give up now and accept your fate,” Wirt chuckled, letting Dipper’s lips explore for a bit before ducking his head to claim them with his own. 

Fingers delving into his hair to keep him in place, Dipper deepened the kiss, relearning the feel of his boyfriend’s mouth against his. The taste of him when lips parted, noses brushing when their heads tilted just so. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, the simple contact so impossible to achieve with the distance between them. Erased now, pressed as close to one another as they could be, Dipper remembered and fell in love all over again.

“Okay,” he breathed as the kiss ended. “You win.”

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt licked his lips, still close enough that his tongue flicked over Dipper’s idly, then rubbed their noses together while they took a moment to catch their breath and center themselves. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you like crazy.” Dipper’s fingertips stroked along the curve of his cheek as if too much pressure would make him vanish again. “You’re worth the wait.”

“So are you. As much as it sucks not to see you every day, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I love you. When you’re with me and when you’re not.” Wirt kissed the tip of Dipper’s nose as he placed his hand over his to encourage him to press a little firmer. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Dipper nodded, relaxing under the hold enough to cup his cheek, thumb caressing in gentle circles. “Wanna just stay in bed the rest of the night and unpack tomorrow?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Wirt wriggled closer, hooking his leg around both of Dipper’s. “As long as Greg doesn’t find out, I am completely on board with that.”

“The pressures of being a good big brother,” he teased, sticking out his tongue.

“Well, if you want to be the one who explains why he had to unpack and not live like a nomad while I didn’t, then by all means, be my guest,” Wirt laughed, then stuck his own tongue out in retaliation. 

Dipper simply drew Wirt’s tongue into his mouth, sinking into another kiss. “I'm just a bad influence,” he hummed, stroking his hair to make it stand on end. “Sorry.”

“You are.” Wirt grinned at him, eyes lit up with amusement and adoration. “So bad. How’d I get mixed up with a guy like you?”

“I don't know, man.” He laughed, tugging Wirt fully atop him. “Too late to back out now, though. I'm not letting you go.”

Wirt propped himself up on his elbows, nuzzling their brows together as he hovered over him. “That a rock fact?”

“A one hundred percent true one.” Grinning, he pet his chest. “You're all mine.”

“There's nothing else I want to be.” Wirt brushed their lips together, only able to hold the kiss for so long before his smile forced him to break it. “Oh my gosh, I get to kiss you whenever I want all summer because you're _here_. I'm here. It's still just- it's like a dream. Only better. My dreams could never get you just right. Not like this.” He pushed most of his weight onto one arm to stroke Dipper's cheek. 

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I probably won't believe it's real until morning.” Dipper lifted a hand to Wirt’s, turning his head to press a kiss to the palm. “If I wake you up way too early, I'm sorry. Blame the excitement.”

“I will not complain in the slightest,” he promised, settling atop him better. “Seeing you is definitely worth waking up in the morning. Remember me saying this now, because I can't promise that there won't be some grumbling. But I'll still love you.”

“I know. We practiced this last summer, remember? I know how to handle you when you get woken up too early.” Dipper slid his arms around his neck, fingers curling into his sweater.

“You sure you don't want to refresh some of- some of that practice? Just to, you know, make sure. You might've forgotten some... um, techniques or I don't know. This is just a really lame way to start kissing you again.” Wirt's smile was sheepish as he tried to duck his head, realizing that it was futile with Dipper beneath him.

With a laugh, he rubbed their noses together. “Anything that involves me getting to kiss you as much as possible is nowhere near lame.” He brushed one to either corner of his smile. “We've got a lot of time to make up for here.”

“Yeah.” Wirt pressed their lips together, sinking into it slowly and drawing it out with gentle strokes of his tongue, tasting him deeply, the subtle hint of Dipper past the tang of salt from the fast food they’d picked up on the way home. A happy little hum escaped him as his fingers trailed along his cheek and into his hair, kiss breaking with a soft suckle on his lower lip. “Gotta say we’re off to a good start though.”

“Mmhm.” Lips roaming in light kisses, Dipper made his way to Wirt’s neck. He nipped at his skin. “Let's just keep that up.”

The graze of his teeth had him shiver and sigh. “Aye aye, admiral.” 

Chuckle breathless, Wirt lost himself to the warmth of Dipper’s mouth and chest beneath him, his own body tingling as it was reintroduced to his boyfriend’s like the pins and needles that would ripple through a limb after having its circulation cut off. That’s what he’d been without Dipper, cut off from a vital part of his life. The rush of him, all of a sudden and all at once, was almost overwhelming, but in the very best way. If there was ever anything to become overwhelmed by, Dipper Pines was by far his first choice.

“So what’s been going on since school let out for you?” he managed to ask, taking his turn to rub his lips close to his ear. “I know we’ve talked and stuff, but with finals and getting ready for the trip and everything, I feel like this past week has been a blur.”

“Here, too. We wandered through the woods to see what's been going on, checked in with a couple creatures we keep in contact with, some of the people. It's been busy, but it seems like we're in for a normal summer.” He nipped a little harder. “By Gravity Falls standards, though, not Lakeville’s.”

Wirt’s breath caught, a quiet thrill shooting along his spine. “G-good. That’s good,” Wirt hummed, his approval easily applicable to Dipper’s words as well as the mouth they came from. “Greg’s been- been really looking forward to exploring and going on adventures, so normal anomalies are good for that.”

“Uh-huh. What’s his brother been really looking forward to?” Encouraged, Dipper bit in and sucked on the little patch of skin to leave a mark.

“Do- do you even have to ask? Thought it was… pretty obvious.” Wirt’s fingers curled in his hair, his other hand kneading Dipper’s shoulder as his cheeks flooded with color, head tilting to bare more of his skin to him with a soft whimper. “Dipper...”

He teased the bruise with his tongue, the swipes light before he finally let his head drop onto the pillow to study the hickey. “Mine,” he hummed, grinning. “I've been looking forward to you, too.”

Wirt puffed out his still-flushed cheeks, embarrassed by his own reaction and Dipper’s obvious satisfaction only made him more flustered. “That’s not what I- I mean, it _was_ \- it just- stop looking so proud of yourself. We haven’t even been together a full day yet and here you are giving me hickies.” He tried to fight the smile that wanted to pull at his lips as he took in Dipper’s grin and felt the newly formed mark throb from his attention, but was ultimately unsuccessful.

“You bet I am.” Dipper wriggled happily, stroking his back, and only looked more pleased with himself. Smile nothing short of smug, he leaned forward again to nip at Wirt's lower lip. “You're welcome.”

“Brat,” he laughed, rolling off him to hide his face in Dipper’s pillow in an attempt to compose himself as butterflies took to a frantic flight in his stomach and his heart basically swooned. “Control yourself and your adorable face.” His words were slightly muffled, hip bumping his boyfriend’s as he stayed pressed against him.

Dipper just rolled onto him, peppering kisses to the back of his neck. “I can't. You're just too cute and irresistible.”

“My heart can’t take it, Dipper. It already loves you so much, any more displays like this might just make it explode.” 

He laughed. “How am I supposed to let you know how much I love you if I don't show you?”

Wirt squirmed, turning his head just enough so he wouldn’t smother himself. His hand blindly sought out Dipper’s, clasping it firmly as he drew it close. He rubbed his thumb over his palm, then traced the lines stretching across his skin.

“I don’t know. You’re the one that’s good at puzzles. I’m sure you could figure something out.” Wirt brought Dipper’s hand to his lips, brushing kisses across his palm and down to his wrist.

His heart skipped a beat, Dipper biting his lip. “Balance it out, maybe. Your turn to show me.”

“Mm… mmhm.” Wirt placed a few feather-light kisses over his fluttering pulse, then pressed a firmer one against the vulnerable collection of veins and sensitive skin. “Might have to let me roll over for me to do that.” He wiggled his hips. 

“You're the one who rolled onto your stomach. This is your fault,” Dipper pointed out, but rolled off of him anyway.

“You didn’t have to roll on top of me.” Wirt lifted his head, craning his neck back to stick his tongue out at him before pushing himself up to recline against the pillow propped against the wall. He reached for him once he was settled, guiding Dipper to straddle his lap, hands skimming along his sides.

Cheeks pink, Dipper ducked his head to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Of course I did. You're cute and irresistible, remember?”

“It’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminding me.” Wirt’s nose scrunched, placing a kiss to one blushing cheek and then the other. “But I guess there are worse things than having an equally cute and irresistible boyfriend lying on top of me.” With that said, he nuzzled him affectionately before his lips found Dipper’s jaw, peppering it with nippy kisses of his own. 

“Mmhm.” Dipper bit back a giggle, fingers plucking at his sweater. “Having one right under me’s not bad.”

“Yeah?” Wirt trailed his kisses along the column of his throat, alternating between just rubbing his lips over the skin there and suckling damply, purposefully leaving his teeth out of it, focusing on keeping him feeling well-loved, each one sweet and grateful for the chance to be close to him. “Just ‘not bad?’”

“Not bad, really...” Dipper sighed, melting atop him, eyes slipping shut as each kiss sent warmth traveling through him and his heart swelling. “Really nice.”

“Mm...” Wirt stroked along his spine, closing his eyes as he showered him in affection, even when he finally bit down to leave his own, matching claim. “Love you,” he murmured as he worked on his neck. “I want to spend every second of this summer making sure you know that. Feel it.”

Biting his lip, he tilted his head to the side. “I- You'll manage that, yeah.” The grip on his sweater tightened, every kiss and scrape of teeth overwhelming in the best of ways. “Starting to see what you mean about your heart exploding, by the way. Mine’s definitely getting there.” 

“Want me to stop?” His lips curved against the blossoming bruise.

“Really don't, but...” Dipper withdrew, grinning despite a growing blush. “This is dumb, but I've been thinking about it for ages. Don’t laugh. Alright?”

Curious, Wirt lifted his head to meet his gaze. “Alright. I promise I won’t laugh,” he assured him with a squeeze to his waist.

“Okay. It's seriously dumb and cheesy and I'm already regretting it.” Still, he climbed out of bed and went to his computers. One was booted up and the speakers checked before he pulled up a program and music started to play. Music from the mixtape Wirt had sent him.

Dipper turned back towards the bed, face burning from embarrassment. “So. Um. Dance with me?”

Wirt’s cheeks had filled with a blush to match, sitting cross-legged near the edge to watch him. Heart fluttering, he nodded as the familiar music washed over him. “Yeah- yeah, um… sure- I mean, I’d love to,” he babbled, sliding off the bed to take a few steps towards him. “You- you put the songs on your computer?” He was still flushed as he shyly took his hand, gaze drifting from the hickey he’d just left him to find his eyes, so bright and alive and a million times better than any photograph could capture and memory could conjure.

“And on my iPod and I may play them all pretty much all the time because, wow, you picked a lot and I like them.” Dipper drew him closer, fitting their bodies together with a smile. “Even your adorable eighties fixation.”

“They- I don’t know, I liked them and they made me think of us. It’s not a fixation. They’re just- they’re romantic,” he defended, placing his hand against his hip when they were as close as they could get. “But you really do like them? You weren’t just saying that to be nice?”

“Pssh. Some of them are songs I already knew and couldn't believe you'd pick. Like this one.” Dipper ran his hands down Wirt’s arms, then skimmed them up to wrap around his neck, hips beginning to move with the beat. “‘From your elbows to your lips, down your arms to fingertips.’”

Wirt swallowed, fingers tightening their grip as Dipper swayed. “Well, it’s… it’s true. ‘I want all of you.’” He nudged their foreheads together as he started to move with him. “That’s not hard to believe, is it?”

Dipper was quiet for a moment, enjoying the proximity. It had been too long since he'd been able to dance with his boyfriend, and he'd spent too long with fingers itching to grip as they were now. Being held in return, Wirt’s hands as warm as his reddened face. “Sometimes,” he admitted, “when I'm just feeling the worst. Not now at all, but sometimes I can't figure out why.”

“Oh…” 

He felt stupid as the syllable seemed to just fall out of his mouth with nothing else attached to it. Just a tremor in his heart that Dipper could feel anything but completely wanted while he wasn’t there to assure him otherwise. Wirt pursed his lips as he thought up a better response. 

“I can… I can understand that. Sometimes it is hard to- to remember, I guess. If I really mean as much to you as you make me think I do. If that makes sense.” His brow furrowed a little as he played that sentence back in his head. “I’m- I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like that. Or played a part in it. Being so far apart makes dealing with stuff like that kinda difficult, huh?”

“No, hey, it's never anything you do or don't do. I just put on the tape or call you and you always make me feel better. No matter how far apart we are, I know you love me.” He brushed their lips together. “It's okay. I'm just dumb.”

“You’re not dumb. Everyone has off days, and you have every right to feel however you’re feeling. Whether it’s happy or sad or frustrated or whatever. I’ll be your sounding board or… you know, just there to listen no matter what. If that’s what helps.” Wirt rubbed small circles into his hips as they danced.

“I know.” Dipper smiled. “I can count on you, pilgrim. And you're here, so I know everything's going to be fine.”

“Everything?” Wirt’s lips quirked up into his own answering smile. “That’s... pretty broad.”

“Everything, man. Trust me.” Dipper tugged lightly at his hair.

Wirt tilted his head into his hand. “I do,” he hummed, just before pressing a kiss to his lips. “I trust you.”

“Good. I trust you, too. I love you.” Dipper stepped back and tapped to another song. “Okay, so, know how I'd never heard of this one before? Now I know all the words.”

Wirt chuckled, doing a little shimmy as the beat shifted. “That was pretty much me with all of the songs on the tape you gave me.”

“Yeah?” Grinning, Dipper tugged his boyfriend close again. A little too close for the beat, but he really wanted to avoid distance. He'd had more than enough of it. “Well, we can't all be addicted to eighties and Broadway,” he teased.

“Okay, one, there are only like… _five_ songs from the eighties on there and two, I just happen to like the Broadway version of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes off of You’ the most. I wouldn’t call that addicted,” Wirt defended. “I call it… being romantic. They’re romantic songs and I’m a romantic guy. Not- not that the songs you picked weren’t, just in a different way, I guess. I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Stop looking at you like you're the cutest guy in basically the entire world?” He laughed, rubbing their noses together. “I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Especially since you Rick Roll'd me by accident.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” A light dusting of pink spread across his face as he stepped back to twirl Dipper.

“You have no idea. I was just sitting and fawning over how cute you were, and suddenly those drums.” Dipper’s own blush rose, the twirl unexpected, but there was something very nice about being brought snugly back afterwards. “For a minute, I thought you'd done it on purpose. But it's you.”

“I’m serious, I had no idea it was some internet thing. I just- I don’t know.” He pulled him close, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m never gonna give you up. Yeah.”

“I know. It's not a bad song, and I still listen to it with all the others.” Dipper pressed their lips together briefly, smile in the way. “It’s just that Mabel used to get me with it constantly, so it was the weirdest throwback. Still funny.”

“Well, I didn’t really mean for it to be funny, but if it’s something that makes you smile then I can’t really complain.” Wirt looked at his lips, memorizing their curve before trying for a longer kiss. 

Dipper sank into it, their dance slowing to a stop so he could lift to his toes, fingers diving into his hair. While a funny accident, it was still sweet. He loved all the songs, no matter the genre or the decade of release. They’d all been picked with him in mind, and they’d never failed to help when he was feeling lonely and insignificant. If he mattered to no one else, at least he mattered to Wirt.

Wirt’s arms banded around his waist, deepening the kiss gradually until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I love you. I’m… I’m always gonna love you.” He nudged their brows together, staying close as the music surrounded them. 

“You're the only one I'll ever love.” Sighing, content, he lifted a hand to Wirt’s cheek. “We're not going to waste a single second of this summer.”

Wirt turned his head to brush his lips to his palm. “No second could ever be wasted as long as it’s spent with you,” he agreed, heart full to bursting with love and the anticipation of a full season together. It would be a perfect summer. 

\----

Though in the woods, someone rubbed their hands together. His essence was like a weighted blanket over the town, heavy and oppressive, but his attention was on the heart of it. Everyone back together again, holed up in the Mystery Shack. Plans already swirled in his mind, spreading out like spider webs.

It would be one Hell of a summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we also laughed when we wrote Wirt say that it's been 116 days.
> 
> The songs that Wirt and Dipper dance to at the end are "I Want All of You" by The Verve Pipe and "New Constellation" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. We have a playlist of their mixtapes on Spotify (most of the the songs are on there, though there are one or two that didn't make it) so [check it out](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3cqeIjHRfR5CjXA6E08rU8?si=nPRJn71HQ5aZhQmpQAm-8A) if you're interested!
> 
> Also come say hi to us on Tumblr! We're [skimmingmilk](https://skimmingmilk.tumblr.com/) and [syl-writes-stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

College was still something bizarre to think about. They were only sixteen, but senior year and seventeen beckoned at the end of summer. As much as he didn’t want to think about the end of summer when it had barely begun, college and applications were already on Wirt’s mind. And, being that he was a planner, Dipper couldn’t deny that they were on his mind as well. It was better than the demon that seemed to needle at him nearly every time they left the Mystery Shack, but he was so used to that it largely went unnoticed. Wirt and Greg were unaware of him, and that was all that mattered. He could focus on college applications. 

They were far from Mabel’s mind, though, which was why only Wirt and Dipper were in the attic. Chewing on the end of his pen, Dipper leaned back in his chair. “There are way too many colleges and they're all expensive.”

And most of them farther away from Greg than he wanted to be, but Wirt kept that to himself as he sat on Dipper’s bed and looked through his notebook. He’d made a list of potential options, ones that both he and Dipper were equally as likely to get into, though it wasn’t like any school would tell Dipper Pines “no” with his test scores and GPA being what they were and what would surely be one of the best personal essays the country had ever seen. His boyfriend had a gift for writing, despite what he wanted others to believe. 

“How many do you want to apply to? Like, as a general number? Mom was telling me that I should apply to at least six. Maybe seven just to be safe. She wants me to have options, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to come up with seven schools.” Wirt shrugged, flicking his gaze up to watch the back of Dipper’s head. “Though I guess between the two of us it doesn’t seem as daunting.”

“Pssh. Doesn't help that I've already been given a list of where I'm expected to apply.” They were, to his annoyance, the ivy league schools. He wasn't interested in going somewhere Mabel and Wirt couldn't follow. They were the reasons - particularly Mabel - that he wasn't already doing more than dual enrollment. “I'm probably going to end up with applications out to at least twenty different places.”

“Mm.” Wirt pursed his lips, glancing back at his own meager list. “Is there- do you have a... you know, a dream school or anything?”

He wanted to stop entirely. School was boring, simplistic, and sitting through class after class seemed like nothing but a waste of time. The biggest problem was knowing just what he wanted to do with his future, but it was impossible. 

Dipper fiddled with his pen, frowning at it. “Nope. You?”

“I don’t know,” Wirt admitted, gaze flitting between the first three schools he’d written down. Well, four technically. 

Boston University had been at the top of the list, but hastily scratched out and replaced with University of Massachusetts Amherst, followed by Bridgewater State and University of Massachusetts Boston. They weren’t exactly what Wirt would call dream schools though. Out of the three of them, only one had everything he wanted. Below them, he had Salem State, University of New Hampshire, UC Berkeley, and University of San Francisco all with question marks, though the last two had quite a bit of hesitation lines and not a lot of pros about them, as if trying to keep himself from considering them as viable options. In very small print, down at the bottom of the page, Boston University and Brown University finished off the list and there was nothing written about either of them except “unlikely.”

Wirt scratched his nail against the word, as if he could pick it off the page and flick it somewhere else. “No. Just… as long as it’s close to you. And Greg. I can’t… I don’t want to be far from him.”

“No way, man. I've been thinking about schools in New England anyway.” Dipper spun in the chair to smile at him. “College means going wherever you want, right? Mabel and I want to be close to you guys.”

Wirt looked up at the sound of the chair squeaking and smiled back. “Yeah. Right, we’ll be close.” Ideally at the same school, but the last thing Wirt wanted to do was limit his boyfriend’s horizons, even if he planned on going to the same school as Mabel anyway. He closed his notebook and sat up. “We don’t have to do this now. I know you’ve been itching to do something other than stare at the computer screen and kill your pens.”

“Killing pens is my life.” But he spun back to his computer to flip it off. While closing the windows, a timer he'd all but forgotten about was flashing zero, and his eyes widened. “That was today?!” he shouted, the chair tipping back from his sudden flailing. “Oof.”

Not taking the time to recover, Dipper rolled to his feet and bolted from the room. “Hey, Soos! We need to go to the mall, like, right now!”

Wirt stared after him, still as stunned by his sudden reactions as ever. He hoped no amount of time together would ever change that though. “Guess we’re going to the mall,” he told the empty room as he got up, righting the chair before following Dipper down the stairs. 

Dipper already had the keys in hand, leaning over the busted freezer to wave them in Soos’s face. “Come _on_ , man!”

“Dude, chill.” he replied, then paused before snickering. “Get it? Like. Working on a freezer here, told you to chill. Somebody write this down.”

“Oh my god, Soos. Isn’t Melody there with her summer job stuff? Not to mention the _arcade_.”

Dipper had to scramble back, Soos flipping the freezer onto its side and rising like a zombie. “Dude, mall. Let’s go.”

“Yes!”

“Should we get Mabel and Greg?” Wirt asked, grinning at the two of them, gesturing over his shoulder as if their siblings were somewhere behind him. He actually wasn’t sure where they were at the moment, though Mabel’s room was as good a guess as any.

Dipper slumped dramatically, gaze lifting skyward. “We’re losing daylight!”

Soos looked up as well. “Can’t really tell that through the roof.”

Slanting him a look, Dipper sighed heavily. “Okay, yeah, let’s go get Greg and Mabel. Quickly. Time’s seriously wasting here. I need enough of it to get to the mall, come back, and climb a mountain.”

“Quickly. Got it, yeah.” Wirt started to head back for the rest of the house, but paused as what Dipper said actually registered. He blinked. “Um… that last one’s just, like, an exaggeration, right?”

“No, yeah, not an exaggeration.” Dipper sped past him, grabbing his hand. “We're climbing a mountain when we get home. It's necessary.”

“Oh-!” Wirt’s voice rose in pitch as he was dragged, but allowed it to happen with zero resistance. “Oh, well, okay then. Um. If you say so, then I guess that’s what we’re doing.”

\----

The Gravity Falls mall was much like any other mall, much to Wirt and Greg’s surprise, though honestly the older brother wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. With Dipper’s excitement and determination to get there as soon as possible, Wirt had simply thought there was more to it than just a mall. Not necessarily an alien bazaar like Greg had assumed, but at least something. 

“So… what’s at the mall?” Wirt asked Dipper, nearly tripping over one of his loose shoelaces in his attempt to keep up. There hadn’t even been time to glance at the directory, his boyfriend on a mission.

“The music store.”

“Oh my gosh, is that why we’re here?” Mabel giggled, bouncing alongside them. “Multi-bear should be happy.”

Though color stole into his cheeks, he couldn't help the grin. “Should be. I’m trying to decide if I should buy two copies or just burn a copy at the Shack.”

“Copies of what?” Greg asked, scurrying ahead to try and get in front of Dipper. 

Dipper's expression shifted into something serious, hands spreading as though he was going to make a great announcement, but all that came out was, “A CD.”

Mabel punched his shoulder. “Dork.”

“Shut up! It's important!”

“Well, yeah. I know you meant a CD, Dipper. You said we were going to a music store.” Greg rolled his eyes and Wirt had to muffle his snicker behind his hand at the little display of attitude. “I meant _what_ CD.”

“Yeah.” Wirt coughed and cleared his throat, bumping shoulders with his boyfriend. “I’m pretty interested in this all-important, mysterious CD, too.”

“Well...”

When his color rose, Mabel began to giggle. “Uh-oh. Somebody’s remembering to be embarrassed, and that somebody's the disco girl,” she teased.

“Oh my god. They had more than just that song.”

“I know. I've heard them all.” She poked him. “A million, bajillion, trillion times!”

Dipper stuck his tongue out. “You're welcome.”

“Disco girl? What does BABBA have to do with the CD Dipper’s buying?” Greg blinked, then gasped, grin spreading. “Oh! Is it a BABBA CD?”

“Yes.” Dipper forgot to be embarrassed, busy grinning and sweeping Greg up to perch on his shoulders. At the rate the kid was growing, it could be the last summer that feat was feasible. “Their first one in years.”

“That’s what happens with one-hit wonders,” Mabel teased.

“Whatever, boy bands. They already have a single topping the charts from this album and even Grunkle Stan knows the words.”

“Well, ‘Put Your Odds on Me’ does incorporate gambling themes,” she mused.

“Exactly. No longer one-hit wonders. They've ascended.”

“They're still not manly.”

Dipper puffed his cheeks. “They're catchy, and that's good enough for me.”

Amused by their back and forth, Wirt raised an eyebrow as he looked to his boyfriend. “You’re free to like whatever music you want, Dipper. No one’s saying you can’t love catchy, Icelandic pop bands. Though, you know, I’d watch it when you make fun of my synthesized eighties music from now on.”

“Yeah! You’d better watch it,” Greg chimed in, cheeks puffing out in a serious expression as he poked Dipper’s head. “But I like BABBA, too, Dipper! My dad has all their old CDs. We can make it manly if we want. Anything can be manly if you set your mind to it.”

“Why does it have to be manly?” Wirt mulled over the particular word choice. 

“Long story.” Dipper grinned, bumping his hip to Wirt’s. “But I'm still absolutely going to tease you for your eighties music. I didn't put BABBA on your mixtape.” 

Wirt feigned an offended look, his hand pressed over his heart. “Are you telling me that you don’t think I’m the disco girl? And you don’t want to put the sum of your love over me? Wow, Dipper. I’m… I just don’t know how to feel right now.”

“I don't know. I'd be feeling grateful.”

Dipper laughed, tugging Mabel’s hair. “You're the worst.”

“I'm fabulous and adorable, actually.”

“You should make your next mixtape for Dipper all BABBA songs, Wirt,” Greg giggled. 

He flashed him a grin. “I think I will. All the really weird songs.”

“There are no weird songs. They are all gems,” Dipper defended, sticking his tongue out at his boyfriend this time. “Jerk.”

Instead of sticking his tongue out back, Wirt leaned in for a quick peck once Dipper’s tongue retreated back into his mouth. “If you tell me you honestly believe ‘Souper Trooper’ is a gem of a song, then I’m going to be seriously concerned about the state of your taste in music.”

“‘Tonight the souper trooper _maître d'_ will find me, hungry for some stew,’” Greg sang, “Or maybe bisque will do. Just somewhere we can dine for two.’” 

“Well... Okay, maybe one or two aren't perfect.”

Mabel snickered. “One or two.”

“I’ll accept one or two,” Wirt told her cheerfully. “I don’t mind their music either, you know. A lot of it is catchy.”

“Wirt can play almost all their songs on the clarinet. He knows _all_ the notes to ‘Put Your Odds on Me.’” Greg tried to move the bill of Dipper’s cap so he could lean over and see his face. 

“Careful, Greg,” was all Dipper said about it, shifting his hat himself before his grin turned to Wirt. “Can you really?”

Wirt’s cheeks pinkened as he pointedly looked away. “Not very well,” he admitted after a beat. 

“He says that about every song he plays,” Greg reminded Dipper.

Wirt bristled, casting his gaze back to his brother. “I do not.”

“Do so.”

“Do not.”

“Wirt, you really do.” Dipper leaned over, kissing his cheek. “It's okay, but you’re seriously going to have to play me something.”

It was impossible to say no to him. “If it’s what you really want,” Wirt acquiesced, then hastened to change the subject. “Hey, so, what’s this CD have to do with climbing a mountain when we get home? And who are you burning a copy for?”

“Uh. The multi-bear. He lives in a cave on a mountain.”

“The multi-bear?” Wirt’s brow furrowed.

“Is he a bear that’s multiple bears?” Greg asked.

“Close. He has multiple heads and limbs and... yeah, multiple bears works.”

“He's really nice,” Mabel put in.

“Yeah. Most of his heads, anyway.”

“Wait, how many heads are we talking?” Wirt asked. “Like, three? Four?”

“One hundred and eleven,” Greg guessed.

Dipper laughed, bouncing Greg fondly. “Not quite that many. There’s, like, eight-ish. It kind of depends. They're always moving, so it's hard to keep track. Definitely no more than ten.”

Greg giggled as he was bounced. “Woah. Cool!” 

“Eight heads.” Wirt blinked, stunned by the idea, though in the great scheme of things a multi-headed bear was really no stranger than wereanimals and demons. “And he likes BABBA.”

“No, he _loves_ BABBA. Even ‘Souper Trooper,’ which is why we're climbing a mountain when we get back. I mean, it's almost like ani- Music store!” Dipper swung Greg down and bolted inside.

Mabel laughed. “When the CD with ‘Disco Girl’ came out, he showed up here in a trench coat to try and hide. It was the biggest fail.”

“Guess this was his equivalent of a deep, dark secret?” Wirt grinned at her, imagining a younger version of his boyfriend tripping over the ends of an oversized trench coat with a floppy deerstalker cap and fake mustache. 

“Yep! But then he met the manotaurs and the multi-bear and I fixed Grunkle Stan up with Lazy Susan, and he wasn’t as embarrassed anymore!” Mabel sighed happily. “That was a weird day.”

Wirt had been following up until that last bit. “Wait, Grunkle Stan dated Lazy Susan?” 

“Uh. Kind of once? It didn’t go so well.”

“I can imagine,” he murmured, the three of them stepping inside the threshold of the music store, Dipper nowhere in sight. “So was there anything you wanted to get while we’re here?” Wirt looked to Mabel.

“Nope! I download my music. Well, Dipper downloads it.” She took Greg’s hand, smiling. “But we can explore. Maybe you can get more eighties music.”

“Whatever Dipper’s told you about my obsession with eighties music is a lie. I give equal love to all the decades,” he defended.

“Sweetie, I've heard the mixtape. Dipper won't stop playing it in the car. Plus, I like all those songs too. Eighties movies are my favorite, and there's a billion great songs.”

Wirt’s face warmed as they found themselves among the ‘blast from the past’ section of the music store. “He plays it in the car?” Hearing it from Mabel pleased him more than it probably should have, but he couldn’t help the butterflies. 

“Why wouldn’t he?” Greg asked. “You play Dipper’s in the car. And in your room. And when you’re walking to pick me up from school.”

“Yeah, but that’s-” He was about to say “different” but it really wasn’t. “Hm.” Wirt pursed his lips, scuffing his shoes against the ground as he started picking through the badly alphabetized rows. 

“That can't surprise you, right? He even put them on his iPod to play at school. He loves it, Rick Roll and all.”

Wirt fiddled with one of the CD cases. “It doesn’t… _surprise_ me, exactly. It’s just- I don’t know. I’m really glad he actually likes it and didn’t think it was dumb or anything. I mean his got me through… _everything_. You know?” He lifted his gaze to find Mabel’s, only a flicker left of what had haunted him since November visible in his expression. “It was important to me. I hoped that mine would be important to him, too. In whatever way he needed, but sometimes I wonder if I’m even doing half as good of a job as he’s done for me.” He shook his head. “It’s stupid. They’re mixtapes, I don’t know why I get all…” He made a vague hand gesture. “Over them.”

“Because music’s... it's poetry, isn't it? Just with music, which you both really love. Dipper spent ages picking out the best songs, and I bet you did the same.” She bumped their hips together. “You know he likes to feel needed. And special, I guess. He... Well, I mean, he doesn't when we're home. He is, but...” Her lips pursed. “This is hard. He loved the tape, Wirt. You should hear how often he really plays it.”

“Wish I could. Wish I could be there for a lot of things though. Ah, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ but at what adverse cost?” he sighed, knocking his shoulder into Mabel’s. “Thanks, Mabel. I’ll try and make sure he doesn’t spend a single second this summer feeling anything but special and needed.”

“If you can manage that from Massachusetts, I bet you can manage from right here!” she assured him, beaming. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Wirt managed a small smile, lips parting to respond only to be cut off by his brother. “Do you think Dipper’s gonna forget that we came in here too and leave without us?” Greg narrowed his gaze, one hand shielding his eyes as he scanned what he could see of the music store. 

“Maybe, but he'll come back for us.” She shrugged. “Just in case, let's go find him.”

“Okay. Where’s the BABBA section of the music store?” 

Wirt scanned what was near them. “It’s probably in the pop section? Unless this store has a place specifically for europop.”

“Excuse you, I’m not a pop. _You’re_ a pop.” Greg grinned, laughing when Wirt poked him in the sides. 

“You know what I meant.”

“You're both pops.” Mabel grabbed Greg’s hand and hooked an arm around Wirt’s to pull them both along. “This way!”

“I thought I was a waffle.” Wirt grinned as he was tugged after her, linking their arms tighter so they wouldn’t separate. “I’m getting mixed signals here.”

“Can I be a popsicle? Or one of those stripey, big, circle lollipops the size of my face?” Greg pointed to his face with his free hand. 

“Definitely a lollipop! There's a candy store at the mall. We have to stop there!” She grinned at Wirt. “And you're only a waffle with Dipper. Right, Greg?”

“Right.” Greg nodded. 

“Oh, I see. Huh. Didn’t know my existence as a waffle was solely dependent on Dipper’s proximity to me,” he laughed. “So what does that make him when he’s not with me?”

“Half the ingredients,” Mabel decided with a firm nod.

“So… what, like milk and flour?”

“Don't be so literal,” Mabel giggled. “You're half the ingredients, Dipper's the other half. That’s good enough.”

“The other half of what?” Dipper wondered, finding them more than they found him. His CD had been located, two copies in hand.

“Waffle ingredients!”

“What?”

“You’re flour and milk. I’m baking powder and butter.” Wirt shrugged. “Apparently we’re only waffles when we’re together.”

“You can be chocolate chips too,” Mabel offered, delighted by them. “May as well be the best waffles you can be.”

“What does that make you, Mabel? If I’m a lollipop and they’re waffles, what food do you get to be?” Greg asked while Wirt unhooked his arm from Mabel’s to follow Dipper to the checkout. 

“Hm...”

“A ghost pepper,” Dipper teased, taking Wirt’s hand to lace their fingers.

“I am not,” she laughed. “I'll be... ice cream.”

“Ice cream! That’s a good choice,” Greg complimented. “And your flavors can depend on how you feel! Like if you want to have a chocolate day or a strawberry day or a moosetracks day.”

Wirt huffed out a laugh at the suggestions, squeezing Dipper’s hand before rubbing his thumb along the side of it. His gaze followed their link up his arm to his face. With a bump to his shoulder, Wirt leaned in and brushed a kiss to his cheek.

It pinkened immediately, the kiss unexpected but sweet. Dipper ducked his head, lips curving into a small, shy smile. “What was that for?”

“Mm-mm-mm,” Wirt hummed, pleased by his reaction, heart skipping at the shy blush. “Just because I love you, that’s all.”

“Okay. Um. Yeah. I love you, too.” He glanced back up, smile brighter. “So were you wanting to look at anything or...?”

“Aside from you?” Wirt’s face warmed this time at his own line, but he didn’t look away as he shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Besides, you’re kinda in a hurry, right? To climb the mountain and give the multi-bear his CD?”

He laughed, the color in his face deepening a shade. It was an obvious line, but he had no idea how to handle it. He bobbed up to kiss him, light and sweet. “Yeah. I think you’ll like the multi-bear. He’s weird, but, y’know, in a good way.”

“As long as he’s a friendly… multi-bear, then I’m sure I’ll like him.” Wirt squeezed his hand again, smile tugging at his lips as Dipper laughed. “I am curious about how you discovered his taste in music though. Seems like kind of a random thing to find out when confronted with a bear that has more than one head.”

“Oh, I'm the one who did the confronting. I was supposed to kill him in my quest to become manly.” Dipper released his hand to wrap an arm around his waist, tugging him towards the register. “I told you it was a long story.”

“Well, I don’t mind listening.” Wirt leaned into him when they came to a stop at the checkout line. “I mean, it’s probably a long climb to his cave on the mountain, right? We probably have plenty of time for long stories.”

\----

It _was_ a long climb, after travelling through a dense, dark part of the forest, but thankfully the Mystery Cart got them most of the way there. Honestly, it looked pretty dangerous and creepy as far as places they’d explored in Gravity Falls went. Wirt was pretty sure there was a constant layer of overcast clouds and perpetual lightning over the mountain that the multi-bear lived on top of that kind of implied a foreboding and ominous aura.

And Dipper had apparently walked here in nothing but a loincloth and temporary tattoos when he was twelve, thinking he had to kill a monster bear to prove he was manly. 

Wirt reached for Dipper’s hand once they were out of the golf cart. Special and needed. He was so much of both, tests of manliness and secret love of europop only further fueling his desire to make sure Dipper felt important to him, felt important as a person. 

“So how much farther to the cave from here?” 

“Not too much further.” He leapt over a small gap in the ground, grasping Wirt’s forearms when he tripped in his attempt to follow. He laughed, kissing him soundly. “Maybe I'll ask multi-bear to carry us down.”

Wirt’s cheeks puffed out. “I’m not going to trip and fall on my face if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

If a twelve-year-old could climb this thing in one piece, then obviously he could as well. Of course, his boyfriend was an incredible guy while Wirt didn’t have the best track record when it came to coordination. Not to mention that if he tripped and fell, it wouldn’t just be his face that would end up flat on the ground. He gripped Dipper back a little more tightly. 

“Is that a serious option?” he asked after some consideration, checking his shoelaces to make sure they were sufficiently tied. 

“Yeah, it's serious. He's done it before, but I usually bike or walk the whole way.” Dipper took his hand, leading the way. He’d traveled up there enough times over the years that he knew the easiest route, so made sure to take it for his boyfriend.

They made it to the opening of a cave and Dipper nudged him back. “I don't actually know how he'll react to you, so just stay here for a second and I'll introduce you.”

Wirt let him move him back, concern furrowing his brow. “It's- it _is_ okay that I came with you, right? Me being here's not going to offend him or anything?”

“No, trust me. You’re fine. He’s just, y’know, a little... much. I guess. And his first instinct is to protect his home. So one sec and we should be good to go.” Dipper grinned, then crossed the threshold of the cave. “Multi-bear!” he called, voice answered by an animal’s territorial roar.

The beast turned towards the cave entrance, its heads seeming to tumble over one another in search of dominance. It lifted onto its hind legs, pawing the air, and charged.

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wai-!” He yelped as he was enveloped in fur, vanishing entirely in the creature's large body for seconds until he could free his head, gasping for air. “Multi-bear! Oh my god, you’re going to freak out my boyfriend! Put me down!”

Wirt, indeed, had already freaked out and grabbed the first thing he could find to use as a weapon. It was just a rock from near the mouth of the cave, but his eyes were wide and it was held over his head, ready to be thrown if needed. Small rock or not, if aimed correctly it would at least stun the creature that was attempting to smother Dipper with its fur. 

“D-dipper?” He hesitated to call for his boyfriend, and yelped when one of the bear’s heads swiveled toward him. He chucked the rock, but it missed, clattering to the cave floor somewhere beyond the multi-headed beast. Well, there were still plenty more rocks he could use. He skittered backwards and scrambled for another one.

Dipper was lowered to his feet, and one head seemed to shift into place. The eyes it blinked were wide and fascinated. “Boyfriend? Is that the one throwing rocks?”

“Yeah, he- wait.” Dipper spun, hands flailing. “Wirt, oh my god, don't throw rocks at the multi-bear!”

“At me? He’s throwing them at the wall.”

Dipper bit his lip, fighting back a laugh. Bless his adorable boyfriend. He was far from a fighter. “Don't- don't throw rocks around multi-bear.”

Wirt lowered his arm, though he didn’t let go of the rock just yet. He’d only just remembered that Dipper didn’t exactly have the same self-preservation skills when it came to what most people would consider risky. Sure, they bonded over their love of pop music and unmanly tastes, but did that _really_ mean the multi-bear wouldn’t eat his face off? Or snap his spine? Or feast on his organs? Wirt wasn’t sure, exactly. Hence the rocks. 

He swallowed as he watched the main head’s eyes become more sentient, then glanced at the eyes of the other heads, noting that some of their pupils dilated from the dangerous pinpricks they’d been, looking more like innocent, soft, cuddly bears. 

“He’s-” Wirt cleared his throat when it cracked. “He’s not going to pick you up again?” 

“Um. I can't really promise that. He's very affectionate.”

“Oh, I won't pick you up again.” The multi-headed bear chuckled then tilted its main head to the side, blinking curiously at Wirt. “So this is a boyfriend?”

“He's mine, anyway, and his name's Wirt. Please be nice to him.” Dipper went to him, taking the hand not occupied by a rock. “Come on, pilgrim. He won't hurt you.”

“Yeah, wasn’t exactly me I was worried about being hurt,” he murmured under his breath, but his expression had smoothed out considerably under the multi-bear’s curious stare. Wirt tucked the rock in his pocket, just in case, and offered a hesitant wave. “Um, hi. Sorry for, you know, the whole rock thing. It’s- it’s nice to meet you.”

The bear slumped forward, large paws folded as he breathed in. “It’s alright. You don't smell very threatening.”

Dipper snorted, unable to help it. “Sorry. That was- sorry.” He tugged Wirt further inside, letting him go only to scratch behind the main head’s ears. “You don't have to worry about him hurting me either. He’s just a teddy bear. With a lot of heads. And some extra limbs.”

“It was more the roar and charging that kinda got to me. Teddy bears don’t do much of either of those things.” Wirt still frowned at him, arms crossed. 

Dipper’s apology didn’t sound genuine in the slightest. Sure, he didn’t want to be perceived as a threatening person - especially to a bear that could rip them to pieces with his claws and many teeth - but he didn’t think the idea that he _could_ be warranted laughing about it. Wirt squared his shoulders and took a few purposeful steps away from Dipper to prove he wasn’t some scared little thing that needed to be led around by the hand, then focused on taking in the multi-bear’s appearance. 

His eyes were first drawn to the main head, then the one on the beast’s back along with a set of limbs. One of the heads on his shoulders yawned, a very bear-like yawn that had Wirt’s heart hammering for a reason other than fear as the pout to his lips faded and the crease in his brow lightened. He’d never been this close to a bear before, or anything remotely resembling a bear since he wasn’t exactly sure if the multi-bear was related to regular bears. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he found himself speaking before really giving it much thought. “I mean, I was just wondering since you sort of seem to share a lot of physical similarities to black bears- aside from… you know. Anyway, do you know if you’re like an enhanced, magical sort of black bear - or any kind of bear, I guess - or are you a completely unique bear? Sorry if that’s offensive or anything, I was just curious.” 

Dipper blinked at him. “How do you even-?”

“Brown bear.” A few sets of eyes turned towards him, blinking curiously. “Some black, of course-” One head grunted. “But brown.”

“Mm. Yeah, I can kinda see that,” Wirt mused. “The ears, definitely.” Feeling Dipper’s stare, he looked away from the many heads to catch his eye, cheeks pinkening as he rubbed his neck. “What? Should I not have asked? Or was it a dumb question? I bet it was a dumb question, no- wait, it totally was. I’m sorry.” He addressed the main head, embarrassment rolling through him in waves. 

“No, man, it's just...” Dipper grinned. “You like bears. I knew that, but... I don't know. You're being seriously cute.”

“Huh?” Wirt’s eyes widened, panic receding some though he remained mildly mortified under Dipper’s grin. “What- no. No I’m not.” Defensive, he folded his arms across his chest.

“You absolutely are.” Dipper tucked an arm around his waist, unable to resist fawning over him. “I should've brought you up here last summer. There wasn’t really that much time, but I should've tried.”

Cheeks puffed out, Wirt averted his gaze so Dipper’s fawning wouldn’t become contagious. “It’s not like you knew then anyway. It’s fine, I’m cool. It’s not a huge deal or- or anything…” Except it was a sentient bear with multiple heads. “Okay, maybe it is, but like I said, you didn’t know last year and we’d only just… you know, started our thing, so I probably would’ve tried to play it down even more so you wouldn’t think I was nuts or something.”

“You’re not. You’re adorable.”

“And it wasn’t a dumb question.” The multi-bear scooted closer to Wirt, his ears twitching. “I don't mind curiosity. It smells better than fear. Much better than hate for that matter.”

Wirt pursed his lips, eyes still round and gaze a little befuddled as he focused on the multi-bear. Hesitantly, watching the main head’s face for any sign that this was a bad idea, he reached out to pat him on the head, surprise replacing his reservations at how soft he was. “Oh, wow,” he gasped, smile finally breaking through. “People actually hate you? I mean, I can kinda understand being afraid, but hate’s just- it’s so extreme. And you’re so nice.”

“Well, people tend to hate what they fear.”

“Or what they don't understand,” Dipper added, taking Wirt’s free hand. He was just too cute. “But, yeah, I told you. Multi-bear’s a really cool guy.”

Wirt flicked his gaze towards him, deciding it was easier to forgive him rather than stubbornly hold it against him for the rest of the afternoon when he honestly hadn’t meant anything by it. Probably. “Yeah, you did.” Wirt laced their fingers together as he bumped his hip into Dipper’s. “You gonna give him what you picked up for him?”

“Yeah! Oh my god, I forgot. You’re being too cute.” Dipper leaned over, kissing his cheek before retrieving one of the CD’s. “Guess who's got a new album.”

The multi-bear sat up immediately, two paws going to its face in pure, wide-eyed delight. “Is that... BABBA?”

“You know it. I also remembered batteries for that old boombox of yours. Has the solar powered one I made been working?”

“Of course, but I won that boombox fairly. I expect to be able to use it when I like.”

“You made a solar powered boombox?” More than a little impressed, and honestly he shouldn’t have been that surprised given his boyfriend was a genius, Wirt grinned at him and squeezed his hand.

“When I was thirteen, yeah. Soos helped. But I got here that summer and multi-bear was upset because his batteries had died, and that meant no music.”

“It was truly a tragedy.” 

Dipper laughed, opening the CD case. “Solar power made the most sense since, y’know, we're on a mountain.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Wirt nodded, his turn to fawn over his adorable boyfriend and his resourcefulness. “Though it seems like a pretty cloudy mountain. I don’t remember it being this cloudy over by the shack.”

“It kinda depends on the time of day.” Dipper exchanged the discs in the deck, closing the old BABBA CD in the new case. “Maybe I'll modify it this summer to play more than one disc so- whoa!” 

Multi-bear forgot about not lifting him, squeezing tight and rocking side to side. “I could listen to them all in a row!”

Squirming until he could free his face to breathe, Dipper rolled his eyes in Wirt’s direction, the twitching of his lips betraying amusement. “That’s the idea.”

Wirt laughed, the brief blip of panic at something so huge grabbing at his boyfriend tempered by Dipper’s attitude and ease with being hugged. He covered his mouth with his hand, smile still visible, and he shrugged in a “what can you do?” sort of way. “Guess you’ve got a new project, huh.” 

“Looks like. Put me down now.”

“Oh, alright.” Multi-bear did so with great reluctance before rolling onto his back to listen to the music Dipper had started. “It's already lovely.”

Dipper grinned, waving his boyfriend over. “Come here.”

Only a little suspicious, Wirt stepped over to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “Yeah?”

He laughed, taking his hand and wrapping an arm around his neck. The height difference was back, the two of them having been very close to the same height the last time they'd been together. Wirt seemed to have found a few inches in the months they’d been apart. Dipper tried to be annoyed by it, but couldn't be. His boyfriend was tall and cute. 

“Dance with me. At least one song.”

“One song?” Cheeks warming, Wirt’s hand went to cup his waist as the other squeezed Dipper’s. He flicked his gaze over to the multi-bear to check and see if he was paying any attention to them with the music going, then leaned in to claim a short, gentle kiss from Dipper. “Come on, you know we have to dance together for at least two.”

“I was hoping you'd say that. Two's much better.” Dipper led him further from the multi-bear, all of its heads swaying to the beat. “It's seriously the best that you like bears. I think multi-bear and I would both be sad if you didn't.”

“Yeah? Well, anything to make sure you and multi-bear aren’t sad.” Wirt leaned in to rub their noses together before they started to dance, both of them easily swapping between who would lead and who would follow.

“I appreciate it. Multi-bear's basically my best friend as far as, you know, paranormal things go.” And just one of his handful of friends. “Which I guess is kind of... pathetic, but... yeah. It means a lot to me. Even if you did throw a rock at him.”

“As much as I like bears, I know they can be dangerous.” Wirt squeezed him a little. “I didn’t want him to accidentally crush you. Bears are strong. And he’s a supernatural bear.”

Dipper laughed, arms draping over his shoulders to tug him close so their lips could brush. “He's definitely that, but he's also really sweet and weirdly polite. I don’t know where he got his honor code from, but I like it. And he likes you, which is good.”

“He does?” Wirt glanced over at the multi-headed being. “That… that is good. He seems really nice. I like him, I think. You know, as a person- well, not as a person, just personality-wise, in- in addition to him being a bunch of bears.”

“He is really nice, I promise. I always make sure to come up here a few times every summer because I know he gets lonely. Like, yeah, he has a lot of heads, but only the one can talk. And... I don’t know. He’s too nice to be left alone all the time with nothing to do but face the occasional challenger and listen to music.” When the album's second song began, Dipper pillowed his cheek on Wirt’s shoulder, content to be close while the slow tempo played around them. “Will you come with me next time?” 

“Yeah, of course. Whenever you want to visit him, we can.” Wirt held him closer, rocking him gently to the beat of the song. 

Dipper hummed, curling his fingers into his sweater. While neither of them were the best of dancers, it was incredibly enjoyable to be held tight and close while they swayed. Together. They’d been together for a few days, but it was still so fresh, still so wonderful to wake up every morning with his boyfriend fast asleep beside him in the same timezone, the same state, the same house, the same bed. He didn’t want to spend a single moment of this summer without Wirt within reach after being apart for so long, even if it meant not seeing his friend.

Of course, that shouldn’t have been a worry. Wirt was far from being a controlling boyfriend, more often than not enabling Dipper’s wants. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s neck. “Thanks, pilgrim.”

Wirt's lips curved as he squeezed him a little tighter. “You don't have to thank me. I want to spend as much time this summer experiencing you and all the mysteries you unravel here, and I'm up for whatever that entails. It's a part of you, and in case you've forgotten...” Wirt turned him, bracing him carefully as he lowered him into a slow dip and rubbed their noses together. “I love all of you.”

“I haven't forgotten because you’re really good at reminding me.” He grinned, the dip adorable and sweet, then brushed his lips against his boyfriend’s. “I love all of you right back.”

Wirt smiled against his lips, hugging Dipper close as he brought him out of the dip. “I know. You’re also exceptionally good at showing me. Even when you’re laughing at me, I know you love me.” He nipped on his lower lip teasingly. 

“My laughter is totally all love.” Dipper grinned, nuzzling him. “Babe.”

Wirt immediately let him go and took about five steps back. “You ruined it. Why did you have to ruin our moment?”

Dipper stuck his tongue out. “You like it. You're just in denial.”

“And you’re delusional if you honestly believe that.” Wirt fought back the pout threatening to curl his lips since his heart did give a little jump at the pet name, so he crossed his arms instead.

“Delusional is a weird way to pronounce right.” Dipper closed the distance, looping his arms around his waist, hands clasped loosely at the small of his back. “You should just let me have my pet name for my very cute boyfriend. I introduced you to a bear.”

Wirt snorted, trying very hard to keep it from turning into a full laugh, but found it impossible in the end. “You did do that,” he admitted, at least refusing to relax into his hold while his nose scrunched traitorously. “Still doesn’t mean you can call me babe.”

“Now you’re cheating, and that’s mean.” Dipper put on his best pleading expression, leaning in to nibble on Wirt’s lower lip. 

The last time they’d seen one another, he’d only let the pet name slip once or twice since he hadn’t really had enough time to get his boyfriend used to it. Since then, it had been used only as a tease over text or when their conversations were winding down with Wirt usually too tired to argue overmuch. Now, he had the whole summer to convince him that “babe” wasn’t stupid.

Even though it kind of was, and Dipper had never thought about it in relation to anyone else. “You’re just so pretty and sweet and all mine. It just makes sense. Please, babe?”

Wirt’s pout became more pronounced as Dipper nipped and nibbled. “I- I don’t…” _No. Nope. No, no, no, stay firm, Wirt. Don’t be a pushover, don’t be a pushover, don’t be a-_ “How does _babe_ equal pretty and sweet and all yours?” 

Dipper hummed as an embarrassed color dusted his cheeks, fingers toying with the fabric of his sweater. “If I told you I researched it, would you think I was completely lame?”

He nearly laughed, because of course his boyfriend researched his pet name, but he bit it back and kissed one of his reddened cheeks. “Depending on what this research says, it might be just what you need to convince me. You seriously researched the meaning behind babe? You want to call me that _that_ badly.” He rubbed their noses together, arms unfolding to loop around his shoulders.

“Well, I mean, it just- it _sounds_ right. In my head. And the first time it occurred to me, it was because I'd just written it down while writing to you. It came out of nowhere, so I wanted to know... why. I guess.” Though still embarrassed, it was easy to stay relaxed against his boyfriend while a paranormal bear creature bobbed its multiple heads along to disco-styled Europop nearby. “It started in the 17th century, and it's not even like it's just an American thing. Even the Chinese have a form of it.

“There are ethologists who've suggested that it's an evolutionary thing. Y'know, babies being cute due to an evolutionary advantageous adaptation so parents would have an incentive to take care of them. So, y'know, that cuteness transferred to guys seeing girls as their cuteness being comparable to babies. And then babe started in a Ray Charles song that isn't bad. And then the possessive connotation comes in because a baby's yours in the general sense of you, I mean, and, yeah, you're mine so...” Realizing he was rambling, Dipper dropped his brow to Wirt’s shoulder, cap knocked askew. “I did a lot of research.”

“You did.” Wirt nuzzled him, smile bright as he hugged him tighter. “Oh my gosh. Part of me can’t really believe you seriously looked all that up, but the other part actually can and loves you for it. So… I’ll think about it. I will _try_ not to fight you every time you call me babe this summer and we’ll see how it goes. Is that okay? Can you live with that?”

“I might manage.” Dipper turned his head, lips brushing his neck. He could love his boyfriend for his consistent failure to make fun of him alone. “If you maybe wanted to come up with a dumb pet name for me like you keep threatening to do, that's okay. There might be studies that I may have read that mention the benefits of developing an idiosyncratic communication. Private language? It's- Yeah. Sorry.”

“O-oh… you actually _want_ a pet name? Really?” Wirt blinked, mind suddenly blanking on all possible pet names that would be applicable to his boyfriend and his pulse actually stuttered in a panicky sort of way. “But- but what if you don’t like it? I don’t actually want to give you a pet name you don’t like, I mean, it could be a forever thing and if you hate it, what if you don’t say anything because you don’t want to hurt my feelings, but then it just builds and builds and then it starts with hating the pet name and then you start to hate me and it’s because I came up with an awful pet name?”

Dipper muffled a laugh against Wirt’s neck, steadily kissing his way up to his lips to cut off the panicked rambling. “I didn’t say you had to, pilgrim. Don't freak out. If it makes you feel better about me calling you babe, you can. That's all.”

“No, you want one. I just- you have to promise me that you’ll tell me if you don’t like it. Whatever it ends up being.” Wirt tugged on his shirt lightly, fingers clinging to the fabric. “Please?”

“I will, I promise. I'll protest as much as you do.” But he had faith in his poetic pilgrim. Dipper kissed him again, warm and lingering. “This kind of stuff is exactly why babe works for you, by the way. You're too cute.”

“If by cute, you mean a complete loser, but I guess everything’s relative.” Wirt took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being dumb. I just… you’ve got pilgrim and- and babe for me and I don’t have anything for you yet. Like nothing’s just come into my head like it has for you. Even though pilgrim came from the Unknown, yeah, but still.”

“We haven't even been together a whole year, and most of our time so far has been apart. It's fine that you haven't thought of anything or really considered it.” He shrugged. “I just move faster than you.”

Wirt flicked his gaze up and over to him. “And… and you’re sure that doesn’t bother you?”

Dipper gave him a squeeze. “It doesn't bother me. I don’t need a petname to know you love me. I never have.”

Exhaling on a slow sigh, Wirt pressed closer and nudged their brows together. “Boy, giving me internal crises just because you insist on calling me babe. The things I put up with.”

He brushed their lips together, holding back a giggle. “Sorry, babe.”

“Uh-huh. You sound real convincing. You don’t want to try that again?” Wirt hummed, mouth quirked in a sideways sort of smile while his hands settled on his waist.

“Hm. You don’t believe my totally sincere apology? That's so wrong.” Dipper pressed a kiss to the corner of his smile. “You put up with so much, boyfriend. I'm just so grateful.”

“That’s better.” Wirt drew him in for a deeper kiss, swaying his way into another dance with him as the peppy beat of BABBA thrummed through their veins and those of the multi-bear, happily humming along to the new CD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obwaffle still going strong.
> 
> We forgot to mention last chapter to be sure to check out the side story [Something to Be Measured](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119234). It takes place around chapter 3 and 4 of this fic and actually started out as a chapter in our first draft of the part 5 fic. Since we'd already posted it, we decided to keep going and just refer to it as the side story it is outside of this fic. So, please give that a read as we get closer to chapter 4!
> 
> Also, we just wanted to say, we're completely blown away by the response to this. Thank you so much for your comments and kudos and just taking a chance to read it! It all means so much, especially all these years later, so we can't wait to continue experiencing this final story with you all. Please keep letting us know what you think! 
> 
> Going forward, The Failed Colony will be updated every Monday! Please feel free to come hang out with us on Tumblr during the week to keep up with any MBF or fic-related news. We're [skimmingmilk](https://skimmingmilk.tumblr.com/) and [syl-writes-stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/) ( there's also our main blogs if you want to be bombarded with memes and art we like and other things, [stephanieprime](https://stephanieprime.tumblr.com/) and [hardcorenerdthings](https://hardcorenerdthings.tumblr.com/)).
> 
> See you next Monday!


	3. Chapter 3

Wirt should have anticipated that there would be an issue with fishing. There was really no excuse.

He’d seen the pictures scattered throughout the Mystery Shack. From age twelve and on, it seemed that Dipper and Mabel joined one or both of their great-uncles on a little fishing boat out on the Gravity Falls lake. Emphasis on “boat” and “on a lake.” Again, no excuse for Wirt not realizing that when Grunkle Stan had dropped fishing hats on everyone’s heads at breakfast and declared that it was officially “family fun day” and time to “finally out-fish that know-it-all Ford and show him how real men fish” that they wouldn’t be fishing safely from the docks or off the banks of the lake.

No. No, they would be fishing on tiny boats in the dead center of a lake that supposedly had lake monsters in it that could easily capsize the boats and send them into the water with the fish where they would obviously drown if they weren’t eaten first. 

Except Wirt wasn’t about to say any of this in front of Grunkle Stan. 

Not when he honestly appeared happy and excited and called them “fishing buddies” and took the time to actually make him and Greg hats that matched Dipper and Mabel’s. He sewed their names on them and everything - of course, he’d spelt his name with a “u” instead of an “i” but Wirt wasn’t going to complain. It was an honest mistake.

So yeah, he wasn’t going to be the naysayer and ruin everyone’s family fun day. He was sixteen, practically seventeen, practically an _adult_. He could handle this. He could be mature about this. He could absolutely get on a tiny boat in the middle of a big body of water with a lake monster living right under his feet.

Just as soon as he left Dipper’s bedroom and joined everyone in the car. Yeah. 

He could hear them getting ready, Mabel and Greg already down by the front door while Stan hollered for Ford - the newest grunkle still an intimidating presence to Wirt, though heck, who was he kidding? _Stan_ was still an intimidating presence, and would more than likely continue to be for the foreseeable future. Which was why he really needed to keep his cool on the fishing trip. He had two grunkles to stay on the good side of. Or at least not be hated by.

“Dipper! Wirt! Come on,” Greg called up to them. “We can't go fishing without our captain and admiral!”

Mabel’s cheer followed, “Let's go, let's go!”

Dipper rolled his eyes, tucking the third journal away out of habit. “We've been summoned, pilgrim. You ready?”

“Yeah. Yep. Absolutely ready.” Wirt grabbed the patchy, floppy hat and his own poetry journal, nearly dropping both in his haste to pick them up, but his fumbling save kept them close. “Yeah, ready. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Dipper flicked his floppy hat. “Mabel and I hid Grunkle Stan’s joke book, so we'll be safe.”

Wirt swatted Dipper’s hand away, only to take it with his own and fit their fingers together. “He’s probably got them all memorized,” he pointed out, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Or, you know, he’ll just make some up on the spot.”

Dipper groaned, shoulders sagging. “Oh my god, don't say that. If you say that, it'll be true. Or we'll have to hear the ex-wife joke a thousand times.”

“What ex-wife joke?”

“You'll hear it once we're out. I guarantee it, so I'm not going to spoil Grunkle Stan’s awful joke.” Dipper tugged him out of his room, heading for the stairs. “You’re gonna be okay today, right? I know going out on the lake isn't really... your thing, I guess, but we'll have life jackets and stuff.”

Life jackets would do nothing if the entire boat tipped over and a lake monster sought to devour them or drag them beneath the surface to the murky depths. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s a boat. And life jackets. I won’t have to _actually_ be in the water. So yeah- yes. I’m completely on board.”

“Okay.” Dipper gave his hand a squeeze. “If that changes, let me know.”

Wirt squeezed it back. “Only if you promise not to spend the whole time worrying about if I’m okay or not. I mean, I think it’ll be pretty obvious if I’m not, but still. I want you to enjoy your family fun day.”

“Hurry up, you slowpokes! We’re picking teams for our fish-off and you have to be here to pick a team!” Greg shouted for them as they stepped onto the landing.

“We're coming!” Dipper assured him. He glanced back at Wirt, bumping their shoulders together. “And you need to enjoy the day too. You’re part of the family.”

“Yeah, but this is, like, time for you with your grunkles, too.” Wirt’s lips twisted to the side as he considered that. “I don’t want to keep you from spending time with them or make you miss out on summer traditions. I mean, you already gave up most of your summer here last year to be with me and Greg. I can’t ask you to give up a second. I wouldn’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t, pilgrim.” Dipper paused on a step, lifting his free hand to Wirt’s cheek. “I want you to get to know them too. I know they both seem... kind of intimidating sometimes because Grunkle Stan is loud and Grunkle Ford is... well, Grunkle Ford. But they're both marshmallows, and I want you to like them.”

“I do like them,” Wirt assured him, eyes wide at the implication that he didn't. “I just- you know, they probably don't like- I mean, nothing against them, but I’m not exactly- I’m not… I’m not likeable. Especially when it's people with stronger personalities than mine. I just kinda fade into the background and become about as interesting as off-white paint in a cookie cutter house. They’re just so… much more? I’m probably a disappointment as far as boyfriends for you go.”

Dipper shook his head quickly. “You’re not a disappointment, and of course they like you. I mean, my family's crazy, but they're not stupid. Being quiet doesn't make you uninteresting or less. You’re very likeable, babe. I mean it.”

Wirt only just managed to keep from scoffing at his logic, but while he kept it to himself, he still didn't look entirely convinced. “Yeah, well, they're definitely not going to like me if we keep them waiting any longer. Come on, boyfriend. Apparently there are teams to be picked.”

Not being believed bothered Dipper, but he bit it back and brushed their lips together. He knew what his great-uncles were like when they disliked someone. He knew Grunkle Ford was impressed by the way he'd withstood Bill, and Grunkle Stan was, for all his gruffness, happy to have someone new in their family who made Dipper happy. They liked his shy, quiet boyfriend and all his awkward politeness. “I call team Wirt.”

“Perfect, because I call team Dipper.” Wirt rubbed their noses together, catching sight of some of that displeasure in his boyfriend’s gaze and sought to remedy that in whatever way he was able. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dipper took his hand again, grinning. “Let's grab team Grunkle Ford too. His boat’s a little sturdier.”

“A little sturdier is better than not. I’m always up for a little more sturdiness,” Wirt chuckled.

“And for being slow,” Mabel admonished with a giggle. She latched onto both of them and tugged them along, right out the door and into the waiting station wagon. The backseat was a squeeze, but Dipper had no problem with being pressed close to his boyfriend.

“So Greg and I have decided to be on Grunkle Stan’s team. Super awesome over super nerds! The ultimate competition!”

“Yeah! Super awesome forever!” Greg cheered. “The fish’ll totally want to be part of our team.”

“Shouldn't we be wearing seat belts?” Wirt mused, concern furrowing his brow as he attempted to wiggle and glance around the tight backseat.

“What d’ya mean, seat belts?” Stan squinted at the rearview mirror. “You’re fine.” They bumped over a pothole, the twins holding the brothers down with ease. They were very used to their great-uncle’s erratic driving.

“Stanley, watch the road!” Ford snapped.

“What, is it moving?”

“Stanley!”

Mabel giggled. “Don't worry, Grunkle Ford. He hasn't killed us yet.”

“Emphasis on the _yet_ ,” was what Wirt would've said if he'd actually had the guts to comment on Stan’s driving. As it were, he chose instead to keep his mouth shut and hang onto Dipper for dear life while Greg whooped on the next big bump in the road. 

“It’s almost like a rollercoaster, except there’s no track,” he giggled. “We’re off the grid!”

“That's not exactly what ‘off the grid’ means, Greg.” Wirt managed to inform him.

“‘Off the grid,’” Ford echoed. “That's such a curious phrase. I continue to be astounded by the changes in everyday language.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Nerd.”

“So do I,” Greg chimed in. “It almost seems like every day there’s a new phrase I’m learning the meaning of.” Mostly because he didn't know the correct meaning to begin with. 

Ford punched his twin in the shoulder. “Ha.”

Dipper bit his lip, hiding his smile behind his hand as he struggled not to laugh aloud at Grunkle Stan’s unimpressed expression in the mirror. “At least the drive isn't a long one.”

Wirt glanced at him, a retort on the tip of his tongue when the car violently swerved into a sharp turn, sending each occupant of the backseat into one another. When they straightened out, Wirt blinked and shook his head. “Yeah. But not short enough.”

“Would you rather we take the Mystery Cart?” Greg asked.

“Oh, heck no.”

“Wow, thanks.” Dipper poked him, the laugh breaking through. “At least there are seat belts on the Mystery Cart.”

“But no doors,” Mabel pointed out, smile bright and innocent when her twin glared.

“Yeah, it's definitely the lack of doors.” Wirt’s smile was a shade strained, but he nudged him playfully all the same. “Though I have to say, I think I know who you inherited your driving skills from.”

“Pssh. You haven't seen Mabel behind the wheel of an actual car yet. The Mystery Cart’s made for crazy fast driving. It doesn't go on the highway around other drivers.”

“Other drivers don't know how to drive,” Mabel pointed out as they bounced over a speed bump. “Grunkle Stan and I have the right idea.”

“Defensive driving is better than aggressive driving.”

“What about offensive driving?” Greg giggled as they bounced over a second bump. “Or Wirt-driving?”

Mabel laughed, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “I think offensive and aggressive are the same thing. Wirt-driving is its own category with Sunday drivers and little old ladies.”

Dipper kissed his boyfriend’s cheek. “I like your driving.”

His face burned with embarrassment. “I do _not_ drive like a little old lady. Besides, how would either of you know? You’ve never seen my driving. I drive differently in an actual car than the Mystery Cart, too.”

“It's true,” Greg laughed. “He almost gave dad a heart attack when he went a few miles above the speed limit.”

“Yeah, because if anyone drives like an old lady it’s Jonathan,” Wirt huffed.

“‘Think of the instruments!’” Greg mimicked in a strange, not-at-all accurate interpretation of his dad.

The twins exchanged grins. “See, now we have to see you drive.”

“Seriously.” Dipper cupped his reddened cheek to steal a kiss before they rattled over the ground. “I'm sure you're not that bad. At least not this bad.”

“Get back on the road, Stanley!”

“I am on the road, Sixer. The shortcut road.”

“I like shortcuts,” Greg chimed in, completely unfazed by the bumpy ride.

“Where the heck is the lake we’re going to?” Wirt asked Dipper, jumping when a tree branch smacked against the window of the car, followed by six more in quick succession.

“If he'd stayed on the road, one more curve and then a straight shot. Grunkle Stan’s just cutting out that last curve.”

“And adding a drop,” Mabel reminded him.

“Yeah...” Dipper looked her way and nodded. “It's fine.”

“Obviously,” she agreed, but held her breath and pressed a hand to the roof when they started to drop.

Dipper tensed, eyes closing at the terrifying feeling of weightlessness. It only lasted a few seconds before the old car landed, bouncing harmlessly into a parking spot.

“There!” Stan smacked his hands against the steering wheel. “Made it in one piece.”

“I'm driving us home,” Ford decided.

“Thank you,” Wirt squeaked out after a beat, wide-eyed and pressed as closely to the seat as possible, as if he could somehow press himself inside it.

“Aw, does that mean we don't get to fall again?” Greg glanced between the two grunkles. “But that was the best part. It really was like a rollercoaster.”

“One fall’s enough for me.” Mabel took a breath to steady herself before grinning at the boy, ruffling his hair. “Come on, my amazing elephant friend. Let’s go scope out the competition.”

“I thought Team Nerds was our competition.” But Greg scrambled out of the car nonetheless, eager to see who was out on the lake. And if there was a lake monster to be found.

“Team Nerds is our immediate competition. The rest of the town is the rest of our competition.” She swung him onto her shoulders. “You have to meet Wendy’s brothers and their dad! They’re ginormous!”

“He saw Manly Dan last summer,” Dipper pointed out, pushing open their door. “Come on, pilgrim. Let’s find some solid ground.”

“I don't know if my legs are ready to work quite right yet. But yeah, sounds good.” Wirt slid out cautiously, holding onto Dipper’s arm to steady himself. “I think my stomach and my heart both flew up into my throat and out. I don't know where they went.”

He knew it was cheesy and dumb and painfully lame, but Dipper couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around Wirt’s waist to pull him close and brush their lips together. “Well, I’ve got your heart, babe, so it’s safe and sound.”

Color returned to his blanched cheeks as he blinked at him, then allowed his eyes to close as he sank into another kiss and relaxed in his arms. It may have been cheesy, but it effectively swept Wirt off his feet and sent his heart thrumming in his chest. He reached up to cup Dipper’s cheeks, gently stroking with his thumbs as he eased out of it.

“I love you,” he hummed, rubbing their noses together. “You big sap.”

“I love you too.” Dipper grinned, giving him a fond squeeze. “Me being a sap made you feel better, so it’s worth it.”

“So worth it. I love it when you’re a sap,” Wirt laughed, tugging on the edge of his floppy fishing hat as he stepped back. “Thank you for taking care of my heart. Seems like it’s back to fluttering at your very presence, nice and normal.”

“Sorry about your stomach, though. You’ll probably find it when you’re hungry,” he teased.

“Dipper, Wirt - help me with our gear.”

“You got it, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper tugged Wirt to the trunk, eyeing the tacklebox curiously. It looked suspiciously new. “What’s-”

“Don’t open that just yet, and don’t drop it.”

“What is it?”

Ford hummed, scanning the area to find Stan being a bad influence for Greg. “Well, do you remember how I said that we were _not_ going to stoop to Stanley’s level just to win a silly fishing competition?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“We’re stooping to Stanley’s level to win a silly fishing competition.”

Dipper grinned. “Cool.”

Wirt’s brow furrowed. “Wait. We’re not- we’re not cheating are we?”

The Pines exchanged glances. “Um.”

Ford laid a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Dipper, I’d like you to know that I am very proud of you for dating someone with a conscience.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Ford.”

“Mmhm. Now break it to him gently. I have to go find our boat.”

Dipper shifted the tacklebox, freeing a hand to give him a lazy, laughing salute. “Will do. Here, pilgrim, grab our fishing rods.” They also looked suspiciously new, if entirely ordinary, and he was looking forward to finding out what exactly they did.

Wirt’s cheeks puffed out as he stared hard at him, the crease to his brow still very much present. “We’re cheating.”

“We're definitely cheating, but I promise you that there's not a person on the lake who isn't.” Dipper shrugged, smile sheepish. “Just don’t think about it.”

Wirt folded his arms across his chest as he continued to look anything but pleased. “Just because everyone else is doing it doesn’t mean we should.”

“You should've been here last year then.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck. “Don't think of it as cheating. Just think of it as trying out whatever Grunkle Ford created. I mean, there's not even a prize. Just bragging rights for a week until the next thing happens.”

With a short hum, lips pressed together into a firm, tight line, Wirt glanced out at the lake and his stomach churned queasily. He was already working on masking the sickness that the thought of being out on the water inspired, the unsettled feeling sending his moral compass into a quivering spin. Though, the sickness could have been residual from the car ride. Wirt was willing to believe both were at fault.

There was also - and really, it might’ve just been the anxiety talking - an uneasy aura around the lake. Even parked where they were, safe from the water lapping at the docks, Wirt felt something heavy sink its talons into his shoulders and cling. It made it hard to breathe. It didn’t feel… _good_.

He looked back to Dipper to tell him he’d pass, that his body was physically rejecting all these things that he just didn’t do. “I… I don’t know…” His tone wavered, and he could hear Beatrice snapping in his ear, _“Cheese and crackers! Stop being such a pushover, Wirt!”_ “Just… just trying out whatever your grunkle created? Not actively trying to cheat people out of a win?”

“We never win, pilgrim. We're Team Nerds.” Dipper shrugged. “I'm just here to hang out with the family.”

“Okay.” When put like that, he couldn’t say no to his boyfriend. Well, he couldn’t say no to his boyfriend regardless, but this made it impossible. “Okay, yeah. That’s fine.” Wirt grabbed the fishing rods like he’d been asked, extra careful with them now that he knew there was some super, crazy technology built into them.

Dipper slipped an arm around his waist, hand dipping into his back pocket. “Just trust me. Gravity Falls has its own rules and knowing Grunkle Ford, these things are designed for more than just catching fish.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Wirt mused, looking over the poles warily before he was satisfied that they wouldn’t start beeping at him or explode or anything. “I thought it was just going to be regular, old fishing, but I guess silly me for thinking anything’s ‘regular’ in Gravity Falls, huh?” He smiled wryly at him, nudging him with his hip as he tried not to blush over the way his hand moved in his pocket.

“Don't worry, babe. You've got a whole summer to get used to it,” Dipper assured him.

“A whole summer!” Mabel echoed. “There's going to be so much happening, and it's going to be fantastic from start to finish, and we're still at the start!”

Unsure if it was because they were getting closer to the lake or not, Wirt’s trepidation rose drastically. Mercury nerves in a heatwave, expanding along his spine and through his limbs. As delighted as Wirt was that they had a whole summer together, it suddenly sank in that it wouldn't _just_ be them together. It was a whole summer of paranormal exploration and testing the limits of just how much he could handle because this was Dipper’s life. 

He never once lied when he said he wanted to be a part of his life, in every part, but now, with the high of their reunion melting into comfortable, perfect normalcy, it made him dizzy to think just how much he had to get used to and whether he could or not. Things like giant frogs and multi-bears were fine, welcomed even. But things like Bill? Gideon, Splinter Man, even the weres, they were a part of Dipper’s life, too. A part that had his fear of getting on a boat on a lake pale in comparison.

Which meant if he couldn't do something like cheat at a fishing competition on a boat on a lake with his great-uncles, then how could he even hope to stand at his side facing all those other things? He steadied himself, making a silent vow. Yeah, he wasn't the most adaptable and repelled change like oil and water, but he had a whole summer to get used to it, like Dipper said. If he didn't plan on going anywhere - which he didn't - then he absolutely planned on getting used to this. All of this.

Wirt relaxed against Dipper, offering Mabel and Greg a smile as they joined their siblings by the dock. “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be no time at all for the wonders of Gravity Falls to cease to faze me.”

“How many lake monsters are in this lake?” Greg asked, scanning the surface of the water with one hand shielding his eyes. “Eight? Thirteen?”

“As you can see, Greg’s already right at home, so it's only a matter of time,” Wirt chuckled.

Dipper laughed. “Oh, yeah. Two proven, Greg, and one speculated.”

“And a whole bunch of merpeople!” Mabel grinned, patting her heart. “Maybe someone’ll hook Mermando.”

“Yeah, well, let's hope that isn't as awful as it sounds if someone does.” Dipper grinned, bouncing on his heels. His hand slid up to cup his boyfriend’s waist instead as they waited for their grunkles to stop bickering long enough for cast off.

“Had enough of trying to fluster me?” Wirt grinned, bumping their hips together.

“Never, but I didn't think you'd appreciate me bouncing with a hand in your pocket.” 

As much as he tried to prevent it, Wirt’s cheeks pinkened as he envisioned that. “No, yeah. You're right. Just surprised that actually stopped you.”

Amused, he stuck out his tongue. “There's a difference between teasing you and just making you uncomfortable. I don’t always know the line, but I think I'm pretty good at guessing.” He didn’t want to push Wirt to his limits so early, not before boarding a rowboat.

Wirt softened, shifting his grip on the fishing rods so he could cup his cheek with one hand and drew him in for a sweet kiss. “You’re more than pretty good. Trust me.” 

“I do.” Dipper nudged their noses together.

“Think you can handle the distracted lovebirds, Sixer?”

Ford scoffed. “Of course. I'm not worried about their ability to focus.”

Wirt jumped, shoulders straight and stiff as he clutched the fishing poles with both hands, side-stepping away from Dipper as if they were caught doing something wrong. “Yes, sorry, we’re- we’re fine. We’re ready for some- for some fishing, yeah.”

“Me too! Let's get this show on the road!” Greg pumped his fist in the air. “Or on the water. Since we're in boats.”

Mabel giggled, swinging him up. “Let’s get you bundled up in your life vest first, then we'll take to the watery roads.”

“A life vest? But I can swim just fine,” he pointed out.

“Anybody under four feet tall wears a vest, kid.” Stan passed one to Mabel to bundle him into. “Hurry it up. Daylight’s wasting.”

“Grunkle Stan, it's barely ten,” Dipper pointed out.

“You can slack, Team Nerds.”

“Can I give my vest to Wirt?” Greg asked Mabel as she strapped him in. “He's not under four feet, but he needs one more than me.”

“Wirt has his own vest, baby. And I'll wear one if it makes you feel better.” Mabel giggled, helping him into the boat with Stan. “We're ready and accounted for, Grunkle Stan!”

“Hoist the anchors! Ready our sails!” Greg hefted up Jason Funderburker and carried him onto the boat. “Let's catch all the fish, Grunkle Stan!”

“That's the spirit, kid. Mabel, life vest.”

“On it, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel clipped her vest on and waved at the other three. “We'll see who has the most fish, guys!”

“Spoiler alert: it’s gonna be us!” Greg declared, laughing as he went to set himself and Jason Funderburker up with a fishing pole.

Wirt shook his head, small smile tugging at his lips as he glanced to his boyfriend. “Guess we’d better get out there, huh?”

“Yeah. Let's get you in a life vest, pilgrim.” Dipper stepped into the boat, holding out a hand to help him in. “Come on.”

Clutching it tightly, Wirt cautiously followed him. While he’d been on a boat the previous summer with him, it had been dark enough that he couldn’t see much of the water or its depths. Not to mention it had been nearly a year ago and he hadn’t done much to cope with this young fear as he probably could have. Trying not to stumble as he steadied himself in the boat, he managed a smile for Dipper when everything stayed rightside-up and nothing went wrong. 

The fishing poles were set aside so Wirt could wiggle his way into a life vest. “So, um, what do you think the fishing poles do?” he asked his boyfriend as he tightened the straps.

“Um.”

“It's not the poles. Well, not entirely the poles.” Ford hummed, dipping his oars into the water once both were secured in life vests. Rather than paddling, though, the boat seemed to move forward on its own. “It's the lures themselves that are rather ingenious, if I say so myself. Which I do. The poles are just reinforced with steel and the fishing line is made of a special material Fiddleford and I developed years ago to secure sea monsters.”

Wirt blinked, then glanced down at the poles. Oh boy, being open to adapting did not mean he was ready to be hunting sea monsters. He quickly nipped the panic in the bud though, because even with reinforced fishing lines and steel, he was pretty confident that they couldn’t catch sea monsters in their current condition. Because they were just fishing for regular fish. Right. 

“Then, um… what- what do the lures do?” 

“They repel the sea monsters while attracting fish. At least that's what most of them do.”

“Cool.” Dipper caught Wirt’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “But the two in here really only come out at night anyway, so we should be fine.”

“Right. Yeah.” Wirt swallowed thickly as he squeezed back. “Of course we will. I know you wouldn't bring Greg and I out here if there was a strong chance a monster would come out and attack our boat in broad daylight. And with all these other people out on the lake, it obviously isn't something people are too concerned about.”

There was the third potential creature that didn't seem to care about the time of day, but Dipper kept his concern on the known ones. “Yeah. Most of the town hasn't ever seen them besides the fake Gobblewonker Old Man McGucket built a few years ago.” He looked up. “Grunkle Ford, do you think we could head to the island? That could be a good fishing spot.”

“Hm. We'll see how the open water fares first. Depending on the amount of motion from the remaining townspeople, we should see an increase in fish once things have settled.”

Hopefully nothing would disrupt Wirt in the meantime. He wanted his boyfriend to have fun, and as much as he appreciated the effort Wirt was making, Dipper wanted to make it easier. “Okay.”

“Sounds good, Mr. Pines.”

Wirt rubbed his thumb over his hand as he fit their fingers together. He appreciated the effort he was making, too. He knew he could count on Dipper to be there for him when he needed it.

“Can I- um- can I help you row?” Perhaps feeling useful would continue to put his mind at ease and keep it from conjuring what-ifs under the blanket of dread that continued to envelope him.

“No,” was the cheerful response. “There's no actual rowing involved.” Ford lifted the oars out of the water to show them off. They looked like normal sleek wooden oars until one looked at the paddle ends and saw small metallic wheels spinning. “After reinforcing both this and Stanley’s boat, I had enough material to fashion these motorized oars. They take actual rowing out of the equation entirely.”

“O-oh. Wow. That’s… that's definitely handy.” Wirt shifted, glancing at his boyfriend and then the great-uncle. He wanted to make a good impression, but he wondered just how to go about that when the man was a certified genius and Dipper’s idol. Stuttering and ignorance certainly weren't going to get him anywhere close to a good impression.

Dipper smiled, lifting his hand to his lips. “We can bait hooks. I'm guessing we're not using worms.”

“Not real ones,” Ford confirmed.

“Team Nerds all the way.” Dipper laughed.

Wirt huffed out a laugh of his own. “Well, you might have to show me how to hook these non-worms, boyfriend.”

“I'll do my best,” he promised, picking up the tacklebox.

“I trust you.” Wirt went to nudge him, but ended up merely pressing close with the way the boat was rocking steadily. “You look very professional in your fishing get-up. ‘Dippy.’”

“At least it's spelled right.” Dipper stuck his tongue out playfully, but leaned over to kiss his cheek.

They cruised to a stop, well-within sight of the other half of their family, and Ford switched the oars off and settled them within the boat. “Alright, boys, this appears to be an optimal spot.” Nearby, they could hear the Corduroy family chanting “fight, fight, fight, fight!” while Manly Dan fought a fish he'd yanked from the water with his bare hands. “Well. All things considered, it's an optimal spot.”

Wirt marveled at the fact that the fish hadn't all dispersed and hidden away with the amount of commotion going on. Maybe having lures that would attract the fish wasn't so bad after all. Besides, it wasn't completely cheating. They’d still have to catch the fish like normal. 

“Do you normally fish against Mabel and- uh… Mr. Pines?” Wirt asked as poles were dispersed amongst the three of them.

“Last year I was on Grunkle Ford’s team, but the two years before that it was just Grunkle Stan here. The first year we were here, Mabel and I spent most of the morning with Soos.” Dipper grinned. 

So much had changed in town since that wild attempt to win a photo contest, but as he heard Mayor Tyler telling Manly Dan to “get ‘im!” it was plain that little had. He loved Gravity Falls. Every square foot and wild character was home. 

“But then we hung out with Grunkle Stan. It was our first real bonding experience that didn't have the potential to end in jail time. Even though Grunkle Stan ended up needing a probationary ankle bracelet because, y’know, he's Grunkle Stan.”

“He always was a troublemaker,” Ford mused, tone fond.

Wirt’s lips quirked up. He knew the feeling well, glancing out over the water towards the boat that held their siblings. Greg was trying to teach Jason Funderburker how to bait a hook, but appeared ultimately unsuccessful. Wirt’s heart leapt into his throat momentarily, the expanse of water between them sending a sudden spike of fear through him. What if something happened and they were so far apart and Wirt would never be able to get to him in time and even if he could, would he be able to when push came to shove because of the water-

Luckily the coil of unease loosened just as quickly as it tightened. As wonky as Stan’s moral compass was at times, he wouldn’t let anything happen to Mabel or his brother, and Mabel absolutely wouldn’t let anything happen to him either. Not that anything would happen. Again. 

Dipper grinned, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the back of Wirt's hand. “Can I see the oars? So we can get closer to our competition. It's only fair that Wirt gets a chance to suffer through some of Grunkle Stan’s jokes.”

“That sounds like severe punishment for all of us.”

“But when our boat gets loaded with fish while they get none, you’ll be close enough to brag.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow, internally quelling the little bubble of hope before it had a chance to burst. “I thought you didn’t want to hear his jokes. You were happy that the joke book was confiscated.”

“Grunkle Stan’s awful jokes are part of the experience. Plus, it's weird being all the way over here.” Dipper stuck his tongue out. “And maybe I just really want to play with a new invention. Shh.”

“You shh.” Wirt nudged him and stuck his tongue out right back. “You really just secretly like the jokes.”

“That's a mean thing to say to someone you're supposed to be in love with.” Dipper looked up when they began to move forward, grinning at his great-uncle. “I seriously did want to try those.”

“I'm sure you'll have an opportunity to do so soon enough.”

“I don't know.” Wirt feigned an uneasy, skeptical look. “I’m not sure I trust you with those if you row anything like you drive the Mystery Cart.”

“You mean perfectly with no issues whatsoever?” Dipper dropped his cheek onto Wirt's shoulder. “Why wouldn't you trust that, captain?”

“Maybe because you drive like a maniac in that thing and if you rowed like a maniac, I would absolutely need to find a way off this boat.” He looked around, just to gauge how far they were from the dock. 

Greg was the first to notice their approach, his hands cupped as he held them in front of one eye as if to mimic peering through a telescope. “Hoist the anchor and batten down the hatches, general! An enemy ship approaches to plunder our loot!”

“You don't have any loot,” Dipper pointed out. “You don’t even have hooks baited yet.”

“We're biding our time, waiting for the perfect fishing opportunity.” Mabel lifted a camera, snapping their picture. “Interspersed with necessary scrapbookortunities, obviously.”

“Completely necessary.” Greg nodded, hands on his hips. “Patience is a virtue, Dipper.”

Wirt snorted, small smirk quirking his lips. “You don’t have a patient bone in your body.”

Greg pointed at him as he narrowed his eyes. “I’m not above splashing you, sir.”

Mabel giggled, ruffling his hair. “We don’t have to resort to such dirty tactics, corporal. We're too amazing to lose to impatience and insults.”

“We'll see about that.” Dipper laughed. 

“Don’t encourage them.” Wirt rolled his eyes and flicked his boyfriend’s thigh playfully.

“I think they'd keep it up without encouragement. I mean, you’ve met Mabel, right?”

“Yeah, but encouragement is still going to affect them in _some_ way-”

A splash interrupted him, though it was just the noise and not an actual spray of water sent in their direction. “Look at you. Bickering like an old, obwaffle couple,” Greg tsked.

“For shame, boys. You’re still so young.”

Ford chuckled. “It's psychological warfare, gentlemen. I'd suggest ignoring them.”

“Good thing I’m pretty well-versed in that.” Wirt only spared Greg a glance when his younger brother stuck his tongue out at him. “Though they make it pretty difficult to ignore them at times.”

Mabel laughed, flipping off her hat to reveal an open package of gummy worms. She threw a few into the other boat, smacking Dipper in the face. “You'll never ignore us!”

“Oh my god, why.”

Wirt picked one of the gummies off Dipper’s shoulder and popped it into his mouth. “At least their distractions are delicious.”

“Better than what the fish are getting,” Mabel agreed.

“Or what they would be getting if you'd bait a hook,” Stan pointed out. He already had a line in the water. “Distracting them is distracting you.”

“Come on, general. We need to catch the most fish and beat the traitors.” Greg was still struggling to bait his, then held it out to Stan for assistance. “Commander Grunkle Stan, I need reinforcements.”

He chuckled, looping and piercing the worm with the ease of experience. “Here, kid. When you cast, make sure your hook doesn't catch anybody in this boat.”

“Or this one, please,” Ford added, shaking his head. He reached for their tacklebox and with the push of a button had it springing open and spreading itself out. It was settled on the middle bench between him and the teenage boys. “Just avoid the blue squid lures for the time being.”

“What do they do?” Dipper wondered.

“I don’t quite know. I haven't managed to test them.”

“Um… okay.” Wirt pursed his lips and picked what he considered to be a relatively safe and normal pink lure and threaded the line through it.

“Four!” Greg hollered as he cast his line into the lake. It dropped into the water with a light _plip_. “A hole in one. A perfect cast.”

“Way to go, Greg!” Mabel laughed, flinging her line right after him. “We're fishing experts.”

“Pssh. You say that now.” Dipper found a yellow lure, attaching it easily. “Grunkle Ford, do we have any bait?”

“We won’t need it.”

“Cool.” He glanced at his boyfriend, lips curving. “How you doing, captain?”

Wirt fiddled with his lure, pink dusting his cheeks as the question he'd been too uncertain to ask had been posed. Part of him was glad he didn't, he didn't want to look like a fool who didn't know how these fancy lures worked, but at the same time how ridiculous was it that he couldn’t ask his boyfriend’s great-uncle where the bait was? Readying the pole, he returned Dipper’s smile with a small one of his own.

“All’s quiet on the western front, admiral.” There was a splash and Greg’s sunny laughter from the boat beside them. “Can’t say the same for the eastern front though. I’m good. I’m fine.” The water was steady, not too rough or choppy so that made it easy. “How’re you doing?”

“Good.” He sent out his line with a flick, watching it break the surface several feet away. “Have you gone fishing before?”

“Yeah. Jonathan’s taken us a couple of times, but he’s not very good at it.” Wirt chose a spot a little farther from Dipper to keep their lines from tangling. “Between him and Greg’s grandpa, we sort of learned the basics. We went a few times last spring and summer before we came out here, but we- we fish from the dock, so…” He cleared his throat. “We’ve been out on a boat before, too, but that was when I was like… thirteen or fourteen.”

Dipper nodded. “I'd never been before our first summer here. Dad always said fishing was a waste of time.”

“Tch,” Stan clucked. “That's the whole point.”

“A stitch in time saves nine,” Greg replied sagely, reeling in his line some to check if he had any fish yet.

Wirt simply shrugged. “Greg’s grandparents and Jonathan were really big on camping and stuff, so fishing was just a part of that for them. Mom’s not so much into it. She’s not a big camper. She does like s’mores though.”

“ _Everyone_ likes s’mores.” Greg rolled his eyes as if the mere notion of someone who did not was just something that was unheard of. “Can we have s’mores later?”

“Yes!” Mabel rubbed her stomach. “Absolutely! Dipper’s just not allowed to cook the marshmallows.”

“Okay. Seriously? It’s basically impossible to ruin roasting marshmallows.”

“You will find a way, bro-bro. I know you will.”

“Wow.”

“He roasted marshmallows with us at our house that one time, remember?” Greg pointed out in Dipper’s defense. “We all did. Before you left.”

Wirt chuckled, letting go of his fishing pole with one hand to place his hand on Dipper’s knee and squeezed. “I’ll help you. Make sure it doesn’t catch on fire.”

“Well, it's not a real toasted marshmallow if it's not on fire.” Dipper lifted his hand to his lips. “But thank you, boyfriend. You’re just so sweet.”

“You know, that might be part of the problem with you. The marshmallow isn’t supposed to actually be set aflame when you toast it.” He raised an eyebrow, trying his best to appear skeptical, but it was hard when Dipper’s kiss had him blushing and fumbling for words. “Just lightly… toasted. Browned. You know.”

Dipper bit back a giggle. His boyfriend was really too cute for his own good. “Usually when I toast anything, I know it's done by the shade of black.”

“Oh my gosh. You’re impossible.” Wirt nudged his ankle lightly with his own, but left their legs touching as he looked back out at the water and their lines bobbing gently on the lake’s surface. 

For a moment though, Wirt thought he saw the water swell up a bit. The rise and fall of the small wave tugged a little on his lure, then stopped. That same swell eventually reached them, and their boat swayed with the motion. He swallowed and hummed to himself as his gaze quickly flicked around the lake, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. A twinge to his knuckles alerted him to his grip on Dipper’s hand. Somehow he’d turned it so he was squeezing his boyfriend’s hand like a vice.

Wirt released his hand, fumbling to wipe his palm against his pants. “Sorry, I’m- ah- just, um- sorry.”

“It's okay, hey.” Dipper was quick to take his hand again, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the back. “You’re doing fine, pilgrim. It's okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, right.” Wirt tore his eyes away from the water to find Dipper’s warm gaze. “It’s just- um. Is there- is there anything else down there aside from sea monsters and merpeople? That’s, you know, dangerous?”

“No, that's it.”

“As far as we're aware,” Ford put in.

Dipper held back a sigh, smiling instead. “Just... yeah.”

Wirt nodded, fighting the urge to shift his gaze back to the deep blue depths. “Mmhm. Okay.” He evened out his breathing and watched the way Dipper’s thumb moved over his skin. “The merpeople aren’t like- they wouldn’t try to drown us, or anything would they? I know Mabel says Mermando’s cool, but I mean more as a- as a race? I guess? Are they generally peaceful or do they take pleasure in tipping people’s boats over and dragging their victims down to the bottom of the lake?” he babbled.

“Some mermaid races do, but not the one in this area. Sirens are more prone to do that, but there aren't any in this lake.” Dipper cupped his cheek. “I would never bring you and Greg out here if there was anything here that would really hurt you.”

Wirt’s heart quivered as his chest tried to loosen up. “I know,” he assured him, though his voice cracked and wavered. Clearing his throat, he attempted to continue. “I know you wouldn’t. I’m just- you know what I get like and-” And he was probably totally humiliating himself in front of Dipper’s idolized great-uncle. “Sorry. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Don’t worry, pilgrim.” Dipper brushed their lips together. “I'll take care of you. You should probably take care of your line, though. Something’s on the end.”

Wirt’s eyes rounded. “What?” He turned towards the line, gaping at the way the reel spun as the lure dipped down under water before hastily fumbling to get the rod at a good angle. “Oh my gosh.” 

“Uh oh, Wirt’s already got a fish!” Greg called out from the other boat, but Wirt was more focused on keeping the fish with him than correcting him. He still had a chance to lose this fish after all. He leaned back as he turned the reel, drawing the line closer while wary of letting it snap.

“Get it, Wirt!” Mabel giggled. “Catch that fish!”

He thought he was well on his way to doing so until a rather hard tug on the line nearly snapped the rod in half. Wirt tightened his grip and tried to regain control over the reel, but whatever he’d hooked was heavy and strong. And big. Pursing his lips, Wirt managed to tug his catch closer to the boat, but he wasn’t strong enough to reel it in completely. With a gasp, he nearly lost the fishing pole, but the line suddenly went slack for a second. 

It was truly only a second. Wirt didn’t even have time to be disappointed or confused. As soon as the line went slack, something breached the surface of the lake. A swell of water washed over the two boats as something heavy landed at Wirt and Dipper’s feet.

Wirt choked on a startled outcry, legs drawn up and away from whatever it was that was in their boat. It was certainly _not_ a fish. It was a mangled, hairy, monstrous mass with hideous green scales as it contorted and lifted itself up - quite possibly to devour them all and spit out their bones like sunflower seed shells - and it lifted its hand to brush its hair aside-

Wait, a hand?

Wirt blinked as a very human hand brushed aside the long locks of ebony hair to reveal a toned, scruffy young man lounging on the floor of their boat. A man with a fish tail. A merman. He stared at them for a beat, then let out a sound not unlike a dolphin before he flipped out of the boat and launched himself back into the water, dousing them with yet another wave that left them soaked and dripping.

Dipper blinked, then sighed heavily as water dripped from his hat. “So... that was Mermando.”

“Mermando!” Mabel’s boat rocked dangerously when she shifted to peer over the edge, ignoring Stan’s protests.

The merman surfaced near her, elbows propped on the edge of the boat and Wirt’s fishing line still tangled in his mass of dark curls. “Ah, señorita, mí amor, you are a sight for these sore eyes.”

She squeaked, a hand waving. “Oh, Mermando, you rascal.”

“Woah, a real live mermaid! Man. A mermaid-man.” Greg grinned, joining Mabel at the side of the boat to get a closer look.

“Woah…” Wirt echoed weakly, still clutching his fishing rod as he stared at Mermando with wide eyes.

Mabel giggled, helping Mermando untangle his hair from the hook. “Mermando, these are my new honorary brothers - Greg here and Wirt’s in that boat.”

“Brothers, you say?” He patted his heart. “This is good. I would hate to have to battle for your affections.”

“Oh, Mermando.”

“Oh, geez.”

“Oh, boy!” Greg hopped up to stand and brandished his fishing pole like a sword. “I want to battle. All for one and one for all!”

Wirt blanched and shook his head, finally lowering the fishing pole and his feet back to the bottom of the boat. “No- uh, no battles for me, thank you very much,” he managed to squeak out. “Yeah, it’s not- it’s not like that between any of us and Mabel.”

“It’s like that between Wirt and Dipper though,” Greg cut in. “They battle for their affections all the time.”

“Dipper?!” Mermando echoed. “ _Dios mío_! This is a joke.”

Dipper rolled his eyes, pulling off his shirt to wring the water from it. “It seriously can't be _that_ surprising.”

“It is.”

Wirt bristled beside him, lips twisting to one side. “Well, uh- well, why’s that? Everyone has their preferences, so why would he have less of a chance at being someone’s than anyone else?” he defended.

“Because!” Mermando ducked beneath the surface, reappearing on Wirt’s side. “Once you have kissed Mermando, you are ruined for all others!”

“Oh my god. That was not- We did not-” Dipper glanced at Wirt, mortified. “I did not kiss him. Ever.”

“You kind of did,” Mabel disagreed, snickering.

“No. No. That's not- He was air-drowning and it was CPR. That so doesn't count.”

“Mm. I believe it counts.”

“Then you're an awful kisser because that was not a kiss. There was no kissing.”

“Methinks, the teenager doth protest too much,” Greg giggled. “‘Cause how come you didn’t just give him a glass of water?”

Though his insecurities had flared up for a moment - the merman was exceptionally well-built, shirtless and tan with luscious, flowing, dark hair and an entrancing accent and the makings of a mustache dusting his upper lip, so anyone would feel a little bit intimidated to know their boyfriend had kissed such a creature - Wirt quickly and quietly nipped them in the bud. An amused smile pulled at his lips as he watched his flustered boyfriend. He kissed his cheek, keeping close to him.

“If you say it doesn’t count as a kiss, then it doesn’t count,” he assured him.

“Okay. Because, like, it absolutely doesn't.”

Mabel grinned. “You could've pushed him into the lake. It was two feet away.”

“It was a crisis situation! I didn't- Oh my god. Mermando, why don’t you just go back to your herd?”

“We do not travel in herds.” He scoffed, offended. “You should know this. You are supposed to be the smart one! We travel in pods.”

“Mm. Like manatees?”

“Yes! Exactly like...” His eyes narrowed. “You know, you are not funny.”

“But I am the smart one.”

“Hm. Fine. I did not kiss your smart mouth.”

“Thank you.”

“It kissed me.”

“No, I- ugh.” Dipper gave up, dropping his cheek to Wirt’s shoulder.

Ford chuckled. “Merpeople are stubborn, Dipper. You may as well accept it.”

“Next time he gets stuck on land, Mabel can give him CPR.”

“Okay!”

A chuckle escaped Wirt as he wrapped his arm around Dipper’s waist, very aware that he was _very_ shirtless now, but he wanted to comfort him nonetheless. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t give him CPR the first time, Mabel. Did Dipper beat you to it?”

She sighed. “We were twelve and he was the only one who knew how. Plus, lifeguard duty.”

“Sort of. My one and only attempt. Mr. Poolcheck wasn’t exactly... uh... impressed with me.”

Wirt wrinkled his nose. “The creepy pool guy?”

“Yeah.” Dipper shrugged.

“He was mostly mad because Soos freed all the floaties and Grunkle Stan broke in-”

“That little squirt kept stealing my spot!” Stan interjected. “It was war.”

Mabel giggled. “Yeah. And then I broke the fence freeing Mermando!”

“Oh my gosh. How was the last time we were there pretty much normal then?” Aside from a brief panic attack on his part, but those were even something Wirt could count on to seem more normal than not.

“A lot’s happened in three years, man. The summer before last, we had to fish out a sea serpent.”

“It was thirty-three feet long!” Mabel stretched out her arms, beaming. “It was so much fun! I think we made a video out of it.”

“Only after we put it back in its normal habitat.”

Mermando hummed. “I have a few words to say about that, actually. Perhaps you will consider putting it back in the pool.”

“Can we? I want to have a sea serpent adventure,” Greg told them, glancing between Dipper and Mabel expectantly. “I mean, Wirt can sit out, obviously-”

“Thanks, Greg.” Wirt rolled his eyes while his brother continued, undeterred.

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t get to have fun with sea serpents!”

Dipper laughed. “Don't worry, shortstop. We'll have plenty of adventures that don't involve intentionally infesting the pool.”

Greg hummed, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. That does sound like a pretty good time.”

“Oh, baby, we have to have adventures Wirt would go on too.”

“No, no. I will bring you the serpent and the eggs it has laid. It will be no problem, I am sure.”

“No, Mermando. It's not-” Dipper blinked, both his and Grunkle Ford’s eyes widening. “It laid _eggs_?”

“It is a serpent. That is what they do.”

“Does that make it a girl serpent?” Greg’s brow furrowed as he turned this over in his head.

“Maybe. It depends on a few things.”

“It could be asexual reproduction or the male could give birth.”

“Or there's two of them.”

Though uneasy about the idea of there being a single sea serpent lurking nearby - let alone two - Wirt couldn’t keep his lips from quirking up as he watched curiosity blossom on his boyfriend’s face, his mind whirring in tandem with his great-uncle’s with the possibility of discovery on the horizon. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of adventures for me to join you guys on, so it’s okay if you go on a few that I sit out on.”

“Don't worry, babe. We've got certain underwater sources that are wrapped around Mabel's finger who can find out.”

Mermando frowned. “I feel as though you are talking about me.”

Mabel's lashes fluttered, her elbows propped on the edge of the boat as she leaned forward. “Oh, Mermando, it would be so, so helpful if you could find out if there are more than one down there? You're just so good at talking to all those creatures underwater.”

“Yes, but this one hates me.”

She pouted. “Pretty please, Mermando? Please, please, please?”

He sighed heavily. “This does not mean I am wrapped around your finger.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Then I will go. If I do not return, remember me in all of my undeniable perfection.” He bowed, the gesture turning into a dive as he disappeared beneath the water.

Mabel grinned, placing her hands on her hips. “I still got it!”

“Wow, Mabel, that was amazing!” Greg applauded her with a huge grin. “I’m almost that good with getting Wirt to do what I want, but it’s not as consistent.”

“Hey.” Wirt appeared nothing short of offended by that implication. “I do things that you want because I’m a good brother.”

“And because you’re a pushover and I’m a genius.” Greg puffed out his chest, then allowed himself to be distracted by the possibility of multiple sea serpents. “When do you think Mermando will come back with news about the sea serpents? Do you think we’ll get to see them? I’ve always wanted to ride on a sea serpent’s back!”

“If Mermando behaves himself, maybe he'll be able to convince it or them to come up,” Dipper assured him. “But I don’t think you'll be able to ride them.” Wirt would likely have a heart attack.

“The one we saved from the pool was a sweetie, though. She didn't snap at all.”

“Can I at least pet a sea serpent if I can’t ride one?” Greg asked, looking to Mabel now. He knew who to pull in his corner to help him fight his battles.

Wirt shook his head. “How about you just look at the sea serpent?”

“Aw, but that’s not as fun.”

Mabel ruffled his hair. “We'll have to see, but maybe you can pet one.”

A thought occurred to Wirt that had him bristle. “Wait. Mermando is going to _warn_ us before he brings a sea serpent up here, right?”

Dipper glanced over. “Uh.”

The surface of the water broke suddenly, waves rocking both boats. Dipper was quick to latch onto Wirt, keeping him steady as an eel-like creature lifted itself from the lake with Mermando clinging to its nose. Its head shook, the merman getting flung away, and the serpent flopped back beneath the surface. The lake rolled with the rippling waves long after it vanished, the mist it left behind creating a damp cloud that settled over them all.

Grunkle Stan huffed. “So much for fishing.”

Wirt’s white-knuckled grip on Dipper’s forearm refused to lessen even as the creature disappeared and the waves began to steady. He clung to him as if he was a better life preserver than the one currently latched to him. Visions of the sea serpent somewhere beneath them flicking its tail to topple their boat played over and over in his mind and left his throat and chest tight.

Greg, on the other hand, was more than impressed. “ _Woah_. It was _way_ bigger than I expected! Do you think Mermando’s okay? He got thrown pretty far.” Greg squinted as he scanned the surface of the water in the direction he’d been tossed.

“He's probably fine,” Mabel dismissed, and sucked in a deep breath before plunging her face into the water to try and catch a glimpse of the serpent. The one they'd found two years before had indeed been much smaller than the monster that had just appeared.

Dipper rubbed Wirt’s back to soothe. “Don't worry, pilgrim. It's okay.”

Through the ringing in his ears, Dipper’s voice was more muffled than anything. The words indistinguishable, but Wirt knew he was saying something. At the same time, he realized he wasn’t breathing, everything caught in his chest as if to keep as still as possible. He tried to exhale slowly, but it held a tremor he couldn’t shake and his inhalation wasn’t any better. Forcing his grip to loosen, he released Dipper’s arm and gingerly placed his palm against his thigh. 

“I’m fine,” he heard himself say, smothering the white noise in his head. “Sorry. I- what did you say?” He blinked slowly at his boyfriend, dazed only until the pinpricks of shame began crawling up and down his spine when the cloud cleared.

“I...” Dipper leaned in, capturing his lips. They really shouldn't be out on the water. He should've known better, really. This was Gravity Falls. “Let's go back to the dock. It's fine.”

“Wha- what?” Wirt stiffened, shaking his head before he could vocalize his protests. “No, it's fine. I’m fine. It just- I was startled, but it's okay now. It's gone-” For now. He shook the thought away. “It's fine, Dipper.”

“No, come on. I don’t want you to have to stay if you're scared.” Dipper cupped his cheek. “That’s not why we're out here.”

“No. It’s your- it’s your family fun day. I’m not- I’m not going to ruin that. I’m not scared. I’m not even in the water- I won’t _be_ in the water, so it’s not even a big deal.” Wirt couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, so gripped the edge of his seat with white knuckles. “Even if I was in the water it wouldn’t be a big deal because it’s just water. It’s just water.” 

It wasn’t just water. Dipper knew it wasn’t. It was a lake. A deep lake that they couldn’t see the bottom of. 

He laid a hand over one of Wirt’s, thumb rubbing soothing circles. “Babe, I'm not going to love you any less just because you're afraid. Neither will Greg or Mabel. Just breathe. You’re not ruining anything.” Even though Grunkle Ford was trying to catch his eye because he'd definitely inherited curiosity from the Pines side of the family. “We can go to the island. We can head back to the dock. We don’t have to sit in a boat to hang out together.”

“I know- I know, but I want to.” His breath hitched, unsure if the panic taking the reins now was because of debilitating fear or debilitating embarrassment. “Please. Please, don’t go back because of me. I’ll be fine. In a minute, I’ll be fine. Please. Please, I’m sorry.” 

Wirt ducked his head, needing to hide his face, but he couldn’t let go of the seat. Mortified tears burned his eyes, blurred his vision, as shallow gasps for air wracked his shoulders. They were looking at him, all of them. He could feel their gazes crawling on his skin like insects, skin itching and aching and too tight. Everyone on the lake could see him, would wonder, would whisper. The whispers were in the white noise and he couldn’t send them away when it felt like his chest was about to burst.

“Dipper, make him breathe with you,” Greg instructed from the other boat, shifting in his seat to straddle it and hugging Jason Funderburker to his chest to show Dipper. “Hug him tight from behind and breathe slowly so he can feel it through his back. Or sit back to back. That works, too. It’ll calm him down.”

“Good job, Greg,” Mabel murmured, tucking an arm around him.

Dipper saluted, moving carefully but quickly to avoid rocking the boat as much as possible. The life vest was in the way, too padded to allow Wirt to feel his chest, so he undid the snaps to tug it off his shoulders. He banded his arms around him, turning him sideways and pulling him back. He held him tightly, lips near his ear as he murmured to him. Wirt had held him through his panic attack. He could help him too. He hoped he could help him. 

“Hey, hey, breathe. Can you feel me? I'm right here. I love you, Wirt. Just breathe with me.”

Wirt’s gaze couldn’t settle, so he closed his eyes and nodded. Leaning back against Dipper, he could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the steady inhale and exhale of each breath. His own were still shaky and shallow at first, panting as if he’d been running for his life. Wirt clutched Dipper’s arm and held on, grateful for the contact. He was fine. Dipper wouldn’t let anything happen to him or any of them. They were all fine. Even if he did fall overboard, he had someone who would make sure he didn’t drown and someone else who would make sure his brother wouldn’t drown. 

His boyfriend’s grunkles could still possibly think him odd or weak or pathetic, but it probably would’ve happened eventually, he rationalized. What mattered was that Dipper wouldn’t think any less of him, and Greg and Mabel wouldn’t. As he slowed his breathing, matching Dipper’s tempo instinctively, he opened his eyes and glanced around the lake. Nobody else was staring at them, everyone involved in their own little fishing escapade. Nobody else cared what they were doing.

He sagged further against Dipper as the tension melted off his bones, leaving him limp and exhausted. “Thank you,” he croaked out. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dipper nuzzled him gently. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm. Yeah. I’m okay.” He dropped his hand to Dipper’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It's okay. Panic attacks aren't new territory for me.” But Wirt's were. With a soft sigh, Dipper settled his chin on Wirt’s shoulder. “We shouldn't have asked Mermando to check on the serpent.”

Wirt shook his head, letting it rest against Dipper’s as he turned towards him. “You wanted to know about it. It’s fine.” He stroked his thigh to soothe. “I’m not upset. Just… that’s why I said this would probably be something that you should do without me. This sea serpent adventure. I can’t-” His voice cracked, genuine apology wetting his eyes. “And I don’t want you to feel bad about that. I just- I know my limits. But I don’t want them to limit you. Okay? I… I wish I could do everything with you, Dipper, I really do. Every adventure and every mystery and see every creature the way you do, but I can’t. Not without worrying that something like this will happen. It’s embarrassing and that just makes it worse.” 

He'd tried to get him to agree to go to the island, but he'd refused. Dipper didn’t mention that, though, keeping him close and quietly holding on while a breeze rippled over the water and teased their hair. “You're not limiting anything. I told you I'm just here to be with my family. You're my family, Wirt, and I'll compromise like I will with everyone else I love. We don't have to stay in the boat. We never had to stay in the boat. Don't push yourself to your limits just because you think it's for something I want to do. Don't do that.”

“I was managing the boat by itself okay,” he defended weakly. “But a boat and actually seeing a sea monster that could easily capsize and-or smash said boat? It’s… that’s too much. I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“She's not a monster - at least I'm going to assume she. And I don’t think she'll capsize us. It's...” Dipper hummed, wondering how exactly to reassure him, and decided to give him simple truth. “As interested as I am in all of this stuff and all these creatures, it stemmed from being afraid. The boogie man under the bed, and I was convinced our closet was haunted when we were little. So I started to research and I turned them into a fascination instead of a fear. That's how I deal. I learn everything about the stuff we see here. Most of what's in those woods and even what's in this lake are friendly, but I don’t know that until I look.”

Wirt sat still for a moment, his gaze turned back to the lake. No stranger to the boogie man or ghosts or shadows or what lurked in the closet, he’d found what little solace he could in avoiding what scared him. If faced with it, he did what he could to avoid actual confrontation, exceptions to this cardinal rule only starting after the Unknown. After the Beast. Even that had been unwilling at best. Splinter Man, Bill, his own father. 

The creature below them. The water. 

“I don’t know if I can be like that. Like you.” Wirt already knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t turn a weakness into strength like that.

“I know you can be. I know some things can be overwhelming, Wirt, but I'm here for you. I've got the experience and knowledge base to help you. I want to.”

“But I don’t know that _I_ want to. Not with everything.” Wirt met his gaze once again for a second before shame had him angling his head away. “I want to be here for you, and support you, but I just don’t know if I want to be as hands on with these things. Or- or with everything. I- I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”

“It's your first summer here. Last year was kind of, uh, a bad introduction. But we'll figure it out together, okay?” Dipper cupped his cheek. “I want you with me. There are so many beautiful, cool things here that I want to share with you. Like multi-bear and the oasis.”

“Those types of things are fine. They don’t have the potential of drowning anyone if things go wrong.” There were dangerous possibilities no matter what, but Wirt would drive himself crazy considering all of them. “We probably shouldn’t be talking about this out here though. Let’s just get back to fishing and table this until we’re home.”

They were both rocked when the boat hit land. “Actually, since you guys are so good at getting lost in your own little world, we're going to track down some beavers.” Mabel hopped out of their boat, plucking up Greg and his trusty frog.

Dipper looked up, shoulders sagging in relief as he took in the island. “You think they still have that old chainsaw?”

“Only one way to find out!”

“How would beavers work a chainsaw?” Greg pondered as he was set on the shore. “They don’t have thumbs.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Or do they?”

Wirt ducked his head, gaze firmly rooted to the ground in humiliation, unwilling to catch the gaze of either great-uncle. It didn’t matter what Dipper said, of course he was ruining everyone’s fun. He ruined everything because he couldn’t just suck it up. Sure, Greg and Mabel would be fine with tracking down beavers, but that wasn’t the plan. 

Still, even he had to admit that the heavy tension balled up in his belly eased with solid land beneath them. He just needed to be left behind sometimes, that was all. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to that already. Maybe not recently, but he could get back to accepting that sometimes it was just better for everyone if he wasn’t there.

A slight frown marred Wirt’s expression. That really wasn’t true at all, at least not to that extent. His thoughts needed to tone down a bit from the melodrama.

Dipper tugged his t-shirt back on before slipping his hand into his boyfriend’s. “It can be pretty foggy over here sometimes, so hold on. I don’t want to lose you.”

Wirt started, his gaze finding their joined hands before tracing up the length of his arm to find his rumpled, damp shirt and his soaked hat, plastered to his head. His lips quirked up. They surely made quite the picture, and he could only imagine what sort of drowned rat he resembled in his dripping sweater. 

He tightened his grip on his hand as he snorted. “You really think I’m going to get lost in the fog, or are you just looking for an excuse to hold my hand?” he teased.

Dipper grinned. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Wirt huffed. “Yes to what?”

Dipper laughed, tugging him after their siblings while the grunkles began to argue over the proper way to dock the boats. “Both.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Wirt protested with a laugh of his own, but followed him nonetheless, feeling lighter as left the boat. He squeezed Dipper’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Thank you.”

“I'm here for you, man. Whatever that entails.”

Mabel waved at them, dim as the fog began to envelop them. “Guys, it's still spooky! Isn't that great?”

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Wirt replied dryly, glancing around warily. “Greg, stay close to Mabel. Or Dipper. Or me.”

“Aye aye, captain!” There was a croak from somewhere within the fog and Greg laughed. “Jason Funderburker says aye aye, too.”

Dipper chuckled. “He is a very wise frog.”

“The wisest,” Mabel agreed, swinging both boy and frog up to rest on her shoulders. “Grunkles! Come on!”

“You kids go on ahead,” Ford replied, waving a hand. “Stanley, we need better anchorage than that.”

“It's a rock! What's sturdier than a rock?”

Dipper shook his head, tugging Wirt along. “Come on, babe.”

“How big is the island?” Wirt squinted in an attempt to see as much as he could through the thick fog. “We won’t get too lost, will we? Should we have a flashlight? Or a rope to tie us all together so we don’t get separated?”

“Oh, right, flashlight.” Dipper patted his pockets. “Here. Usually, we've got a lantern for the island. Y'know, suits the spooky island ambience. This’ll work, though.”

Honestly, Wirt preferred the flashlight. “Okay. Okay, good,” he breathed, then gasped as he stumbled over something on the ground, like a divot in the earth. “I’m good! Just- just tripped. Um. Yeah. So, we’re looking for beavers with chainsaws?”

“Wirt! Wirt, it’s called ‘Scuttlebutt Island!’” Greg called out ahead of them with a giggle. “It has the word ‘butt’ in it.”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s great, Greg.”

Dipper rolled his eyes, Mabel’s giggles joining the boy’s. “On one side of the island, there are rocks where the beavers like to hang out. Another side of the island is more sunny and better for fishing. We'll probably meet the grunkles over there.”

“Oh. Okay. That sounds like a good plan.” A normal plan. A normal plan when they were in a paranormal place, meant to experience things they couldn’t elsewhere. “It’s- it’s really okay if you and Mabel want to take Greg to look for the sea serpent, you know. I’ll be fine fishing with your grunkles on dry land. I mean, we don’t have to do everything together all the time. Not that I wouldn’t want to, just- ugh. Sorry, I’ll stop bringing it up. I know it’s dumb. Greg will love beavers and fishing just as much as he’d love a sea serpent.”

Dipper tucked a secure arm around Wirt's waist. “You know nobody's mad at you for getting scared, right?”

“I- I know.” Wirt lifted his chin, striving for some indignation in his tone, but it fell flat as his stomach twisted into a tight coil. 

“Hey.” Dipper stopped, tugging him around to face him. “I'm serious. It's okay.” He wrapped his arms around his waist, tugging him close. “Please don’t spend the rest of the day feeling bad.”

It took a minute for Wirt to meet his gaze, focusing on any part of his face other than his eyes for a couple beats. “I won't,” he assured him, relaxing in his hold as he placed one hand over Dipper’s heart and toyed with his shirt. “It's kind of impossible to feel bad for too long around you.”

“Good. Because you know Mabel and I would just bug you until you stopped. She'd poke you into submission, but I'm nicer.” Dipper leaned in, stealing a kiss. 

Wirt’s scoff was smothered by his lips, and he licked the traces of it from the corners of his mouth when they parted. “Yeah, well… pretty sure poking would only end up making me feel worse, so you're both lucky that you're nicer.” Wirt rubbed their noses together, then slipped from his grasp to take his hand and continue after their siblings. “You're doing fine, you know. A lot of this… stuff is just me and what you've been doing does help. So don't doubt that you're helping or whether or not what you say makes a difference because it does.” Wirt bumped their hips together. “Poking won't though. Not a chance.”

“It's easy to be nice when I like seeing you smile. And I'd much rather kiss you than poke at you to make it happen.” Dipper kissed him again, quick and friendly. “Did you know that you have the nicest mouth in the whole world? It's a rock fact.”

“What?” A startled laugh escaped him and Wirt bumped him again. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Grinning, Dipper gave his hand a squeeze. “You don’t need to. I just know what I'm talking about because I'm the one who gets to see you smile and I get to kiss you. I'm basically an expert.”

“You mean biased,” Wirt snorted, other hand covering his own lips, touching the corners lightly as butterflies spread out in his belly. “It can’t be the best when yours tastes of summer and beckons me to new beginnings with a single quirk. Even if it spills such lies.” He grinned at him from behind his hand.

“Well, your mouth is poetry. Sight, sound, and taste. What I say is fleeting. What you say is defining.” Pleased that he'd gotten his boyfriend to smile and relax, Dipper lifted his hand to press a kiss to the back. He wanted to keep him happy. He wanted him to accept Gravity Falls for all its weirdness. If that meant keeping him off the lake as much as possible, so be it. They could change their fishing traditions. Pines were an adaptable breed. “Come on, boyfriend of mine. Let's go see some beavers, and see if we can catch a fish instead of a merman.”

“Sounds good to me. As long as the fish don't talk about their experiences kissing you, too,” he teased, heart thrumming as he committed Dipper’s fleeting words to memory. 

“Oh my god, it was _not_ a kiss.” Grinning, Dipper tugged him to their siblings and into the rest of their day.

\----

Had their day been on land, they likely would've seen him. At least Dipper, with his keen sense of everything Gravity Falls, might have _felt_ something wrong in the air. 

It was like Bill, but more substantial. He reeked of sulphur, stench wafting around the trees as he trudged unhappily through the forest. Birds fell, critters scattered, a passing gnome vomited rainbows, and one unfortunate pixie fainted as she flew by. 

Beneath a messy blond wig, a frog croaked and the man it was affixed to belched in response. 

A golden glow drifted closer. "I haven't been so happy not to have a meat sack in my whole discorporated existence. You look like you smell like Satan's used toilet paper."

The demon decided not to respond, lips curling. "Hello, Cipher. We need to talk."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our side story ["Something to be Measured"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119234) is referenced in this chapter and chronologically takes place somewhere in the middle. If you haven't had a chance to read that yet, check it out! It was part of our original part 5 story, and probably could have fit here if we hadn't posted it already for Pinescone Week. We hadn't realized we'd actually get sucked back into this fic at the time of posting it, and the story as a whole doesn't really need it, but it is cute and fun and referenced here.
> 
> Also, we finally start blending more of the Good Omens lore with MBF in this chapter. There may be some mention of how the series/book wraps up. If you haven't watched/read it, there may be some hints of spoilers, but you don't have to know the story to follow along. We just recommend it because it's wonderful.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Two Days Earlier_

Below the quaint chaos of the little community that comprised Gravity Falls, under the crust of the Earth and beyond the constraints of the human notion of physics, someone in Hell was plotting. It was quite a different thing than planning, something one did when a more sinister sensibility overcame them. Plotting required cunning, conniving collusion, and conspiracy.

It also required a mind less like the cesspool that was Duke Hastur’s.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that three someones in Hell were plotting. When left to his own devices, Hastur’s ideas were pedestrian at best. Though he did have quite the knack for arson and things related to fire in general. If you needed something charred beyond recognition, Hastur was your demon. He also did pretty well with corrupting priests and other men of the cloth.

In any case, Lord Beelzebub and Lord Dagon unfortunately didn’t need Hastur for either of those things. At the moment. They’d know more after the next staff meeting, if they could fix the wiring in the conference room. While flickering fluorescent lights and an overall appearance of doom and gloom were appropriate to Hell, they didn’t have a great vision plan and it made it hard for people to follow along the agenda when the lights were either doing their best impression of a raving club scene from the 1960s or not on at all. So for now all staff meetings were postponed indefinitely, except for the sesquicentennial safety seminar. They’d already put that off for the past twelve years, thinking it wouldn’t matter if their training was up to date if the end of the world was coming.

Which was exactly what this little meeting between three demons was concerning. The end of the world had quite obviously not come. The Antichrist had failed them, because the demon Crowley had failed them - if he could even be called that anymore - and millions of demons were outraged at the distinct lack of bloodshed. It had taken the better part of the year to go through every complaint - and to be fair, they shredded most of them because they were meant to be anonymous, yet everyone - _Hastur_ \- kept signing their names. Earth privileges had been revoked, no one trusted not to defect or to take matters into their own hands concerning the traitor behind their lost cause.

As much as they wanted revenge, they couldn’t just go about acting on their own whims and desires. Wasn’t that how they got into this mess with Crowley in the first place? Left to his own devices, he fell once again, into allegiance with an angel and humanity. Maybe it was fitting for a rebel to rebel more than once, but that was the concerning bit. Hell was full of rebels. If any one of them got it into their heads that they could act on their own, who was to say they wouldn’t come to think that they could do a better job?

“We caught Verrier and her brood trying to steal corporations,” Dagon hissed through her sharp teeth, scales glinting as they crept up her neck. “Again.”

Beelzebub released a heavy sigh, eyes rolling as the flies hovering around mirrored them with lazy loops. “Why am I not zurprized? She’ll take any opportunity to be dizzzzzobedient.”

“And Belial is talking about starting his own revolution again…”

“Oh pleaze. How many timez muszzt I tell him that the ‘Sonz of Belial’ will never be a thing? It’z a stupid name.”

“He wants to take lead, thinks he can do a better job than you can reigning in the traitor,” Dagon pointed out.

“I’d like to zee him try,” Beelzebub grumbled, slumping in their chair. It had a wobbly leg, but every time they tried to fix it, they couldn’t tell which of the legs was offset. “But _if_ he triezz anything, then it lookz like he’z undermining me.”

“Can’t have that.” Dagon shook her head firmly.

“Right,” Hastur agreed, his voice gritty as though he’d swallowed chalk dust. “Er. Why not?”

Beelzebub fixed him with the blandest of looks. “ _Becauzzze_ it’ll be a domino effect. One demon makesz a play for power and zuddenly all of Hell thinkz they can rule it better.”

“There’s rumors that another faction has started gaining traction,” Dagon added. “They call themselves ‘Justice for Ligur.’”

Beelzebub frowned. “Not a very demonic name.”

“No, it’s not.”

Hastur cleared his throat of some of the chalky grit. “Yeah, s’an awful name,” he grunted, then tried to change the subject. “So what do we do about it? Torture them? Lock ‘em in the pit?”

“We’ve tried that already. _Clearly_ it’zzzz not working. We have zomething elze in mind.”

Hastur blinked slowly, the toad atop his head shifting its viscous grip. “Like what?”

“When the end of dayz was nigh, we had everyone rallied under a common cauze. Zzzzomething everyone could zzzzupport,” Beelzebub prompted slowly, watching Hastur’s face for any sort of comprehension. “Right?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Well, what if we had another cause to fight for?” Dagon joined in. “Something to keep the lower denizens in their place as they look towards the inevitable?”

Hastur’s brow furrowed as he considered that. “What like that team waterboarding exercise?”

Dagon chuckled to herself at the memory, being part-fish, it was one of her favorite of the team exercises, but Beelzebub didn’t find it nearly as amusing. “No.”

“Something on a bigger scale,” Dagon clarified, giving Hastur more to work with.

“Bigger?” Hastur stood a bit straighter, obviously intrigued by the promise of something… important. “How big?”

The sharp teeth in Dagon’s piranha mouth looked colder and deadlier in her smiling mouth. “Think ten thousand demons at war with the world big.”

They couldn’t say it aloud. While planning a coup seemed like something that would be right up Hell’s proverbial alley, there were some things even demons couldn’t do. Attempts to end the world had been made in the past, long before Armageddon had been put into motion. Demons had a habit of going off script, but any attempts had been easily cut off at the head and cleared up with a few centuries of torture depending on the severity of their crimes.

Some went mad from it. If they hadn’t been mad already. Mad enough to form their own plan in a play for power. Demons might not have been the loyal sort, but it was unacceptable for them to go out of their way to spit in Satan’s face. No one got away with that, not even the traitor Crowley. He’d get his one day.

However, a play for power was not what Beelzebub and Dagon were trying to do. No, they were attempting to clean up what was effectively the biggest PR disaster since a cartoon incited a craze for a dipping sauce that hadn’t been in supply for nearly twenty years. They were attempting to keep their fellow demons in line, not that Hell had much of one, and salvage some of Satan’s dignity as he sulked. Of course his kid would rebel and not do as he was told, but did he have to be so good at it? So that was a bit of a sore spot still.

No, this was for the good - or bad, however you wanted to look at it - of Hell. It was also why they needed Hastur. A patsy, so to speak. Someone with a taste for evil and a knack for destruction, but not likely to attempt to do anything… creative.

The demon in question stared at them, the crease in his brow growing deeper. “But… but Armageddon didn’t happen. The Antichrist and the horsemen didn’t end the world in fire and flame.”

“But that wazzzn’t the only time Armageddon hazzz been attempted…” Beelzebub led slowly, leaning forward on steepled fingers.

Hastur frowned. “Er...What do you mean?”

Beelzebub exchanged glanced with Dagon, tsking before their gaze slid back to the duke as they drawled, “The colony?”

At least that seemed to trigger some sort of light bulb in Hastur’s head, dim as it was. “But that was contained before it even got going,” he pointed out.

“Yesz, well, the timing might not have been the beszzt, but it had... _potential_.” Beelzebub waited for the puzzle piece to slot in place, but that was perhaps too much to hope for.

Hastur nodded at first, then paused and opened his mouth, long enough that he could’ve caught the flies buzzing more and more frantically around Beelzebub’s head. After several beats too long, so long the dead horse they could’ve used those beats on had already decayed and crumbled to dust, Hastur asked, “What did?” 

Beelzebub rolled their eyes and the flies buzzed louder. “The _colony_.”

“Oh. Right.” Hastur grinned, as if he knew all along. “So we… use the colony... But isn’t that what’s-his-name’s territory now?”

“‘What’zz-hiz-name’ doeszzn’t _have_ a territory,” Beelzebub groused. “Hizzz exzzile didn’t entitle him to anything.”

“We just haven’t had a use for the colony until now,” Dagon added. “Or him.”

Hastur’s lips curled into an unpleasant sneer. “You don’t mean you want me to work with him?”

“ _We_ don’t want you to do _anything_ ,” Dagon told him in crisp, clear terms. “But if one were to use the colony to start Armageddon anew… it might help to have some insight from someone who has attempted it before and who knows about the boy.”

“The boy…” Hastur growled. “Not the Antichrist?”

“No, _not_ the Antichrizt!” Beelzebub snapped. “The normal human boy that _knowzzzz_ too much. Keep up, Hazztur.”

“Oh. That boy.” There were too many bloody humans involved in all these schemes. Better just to cut them all out completely, in his opinion. They just cluttered things up and got in the way, clearly too influenced by Crowley with their love of all things shiny and new. It was disgusting. “Can I disembowel him?”

Beelzebub threw their hands up in the air before slouching further, practically becoming one with their chair. “You can do whatever you like with him az long az it bringz about the end of the world.”

“But I’d talk with Cipher first,” Dagon reasoned. “He might be a crucial component. Him and his family. If it were me, I’d confer with him, then plan accordingly.”

Plan accordingly, right. Hastur could do that. He’d followed the original plan for the Apocalypse to a T, it was that capital T Traitor Crowley that buggered it all up. He’d be able to sink his claws into the colony and rip it out by the roots, as long as Crowley or that bloody angel of his didn’t get involved…

“I can do that,” he gurgled with pleasure. “Now, uh… where’s the colony again?”

\----

_Present Day_

_Four Hours After the Fishing Trip_

Though the lake water had long since dried after hours spent with the warmth of the Oregon sun on their backs as they trekked along the shores of Scuttlebutt Island, Wirt could still feel the film of it against his skin like an invisible layer of sediment and anxiety was stuck to him. His hair had also suffered from the lake water and floppy fishing hat, both conspiring together to make it stick up in an odd peak that could only be tamed by a hot shower. Which was exactly what he felt like he needed upon arriving back at the Mystery Shack.

A shower and a nap, maybe. Panic attacks always left him feeling a bit drained, like his body expended all his energy in keeping from rattling to pieces from the inside out. A hot shower would soothe some of the tension that still lived between his shoulder blades and fill his head with steam to clear the congestion of muddled up thoughts. It wasn’t evening yet, the late afternoon coloring the trees surrounding the shack with a golden amber light, reddening their trunks in sienna shadows that wove between them. It might’ve been a little late for a nap, he’d see how he felt after the shower, but dressing in something comfy and cuddling up with Dipper to watch some Gravity Falls B movie hardly sounded like a consolation prize. Honestly it was what he really wanted.

He selfishly enjoyed feeling their bodies pressed close, the gentle pressure of Dipper’s shoulder flush against his or the weight of his leg draped over his thigh. It was grounding in a way little was when Wirt was surrounded by uncertainties, and by god was Gravity Falls surrounded by uncertainties. Like the Unknown, anything was really possible if you could fathom it, and sometimes things you never even wanted to fathom would make themselves known to you. Like skeletons dressed as pumpkins or gnomes that puked rainbows. Or a Beast of the woods or a demon in the shape of a triangle.

Wirt hadn’t yet asked if Dipper had felt any trace of him nearby so far, part of him was too scared to even dare broach that topic for fear of what they answer might be, and the other part was certain that Dipper would tell him if anything seemed off.

As they piled out of the station wagon, still in one piece, Wirt stretched out sore limbs and ruffled Greg’s hair as his little brother ran past him in search of Waddles. “Is it okay if I take a shower? I just kind of want to wash this whole day off of me,” he huffed out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wanted to be, and looked at the twins.

“Oh, sweetie, you can do whatever you want. It'll mean more hot water for everyone else later!” 

Dipper nodded, reaching for his hand. “I might be able to keep busy while you do. We'll see.”

“It's not going to be a long shower.” Wirt rolled his eyes, but it got a smile out of him as he squeezed his hand. 

“Promise?” He laid a hand against his heart, glad to see the smile. Grunkle Ford's driving had been just as bad as Grunkle Stan's for entirely different reasons, which was far from unusual but it _was_ just another thing that made being in Gravity Falls difficult. “I'll be so lonely without you, boyfriend.”

Wirt scrunched his nose as he leaned in to rub it against Dipper’s. “Thank you, boyfriend, but I know you can’t wait to talk about the results of those lures with your great-uncle. And other sciencey stuff. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

He took the chance to steal a quick kiss. “I'll have to bore you with the details later.”

“Can’t wait.” His lips quirked up thanks to the kiss and he couldn’t resist resting their foreheads together for a minute. “Hey, just… thanks again for today. I know it didn’t really go as planned, but… thank you for being there for me.”

“I'm always gonna be there for you, pilgrim. Besides, when do my plans ever actually, y'know, go as planned?” Dipper squeezed his hand, willing him to trust him. “Today was fun.”

Wirt nodded, glancing down at their hands. “Yeah,” he agreed after a beat. “Yeah, it ended up being fun- on the island, you know, and- yeah. It worked out.” He flicked his gaze back up to his eyes. “I’ll- I’ll see you in a bit.” 

He let go of Dipper’s hand with an awkward sort of wave, then hurried into the shack and tried to ignore the little mental kick of ending that conversation even more awkwardly. Hopefully the shower would clear his head, and hopefully Dipper would get some quality time in with Grunkle Ford that he missed out on making sure Wirt was okay. It was sweet - so sweet to feel taken care of by Dipper - but it still didn’t completely soothe the guilty knots that tangled themselves in his stomach.

His boyfriend only sighed, knowing too well that the guilt was there. His twin did, too. “Don't worry, bro-bro. He'll start having fun in no time.” 

“I know. We were doing okay. It's just...”

“It's okay,” she soothed. “He's a worry Wirt and you're not much better, but I have faith in you both. You should too.”

“Yeah. Come on. Help me empty the trunk.”

“Right behind you, Dipdop!” 

It didn't take long to get tackle boxes and fishing rods out of the station wagon and into the Shack, their grunkles bringing their argument over who the better driving was inside. It wasn't until the twins were leaving to find Greg that Grunkle Ford checked one of the boxes. 

“Dipper, I seem to be missing one of my lures.”

He looked up at his grunkle, head tipping to the side a little. “We counted them before we left. It couldn’t have gotten up and walked away, right?”

“Well...”

Dipper laughed, unsurprised. “Got it. I’ll take a look in the parking lot. Do I need anything special?”

“Take one of the poles. It should be attracted to it.”

“Sure thing, Grunkle Ford.”

“Need help?” Mabel offered. 

“No, it's okay. Go find Greg and make sure he's telling Waddles and Jason Funderburker all about the island.”

“Can do!” 

Dipper grabbed a fishing pole on his way out, sighing to himself. Maybe one day he'd know better how to help Wirt with this phobia? Or maybe one day his boyfriend would have access to someone actually trained to help. He didn’t know, but he could hope for the best in their future. It was something he did well with so many questions and theories constantly swirling in his mind. Things could always go wrong, be worse, or end, though that was something he considered less and less as time went. If anything was going to try ending the world, it was Bill and they’d dealt with that once already. They could do it again.

Dipper just didn’t want to. He didn’t want any of them to and just hoped that nagging presence would stay dim. He hadn’t come for them the summer before, after all, and now they were all protected. He wouldn’t bother, surely. It wasn’t Bill’s style. He tended to vanish after a big loss and Dipper imagined it was time he took to sulk. It could be _years_ before he bothered them again. Enough time, hopefully, to get Wirt acclimated to the weirdness of Gravity Falls.

The good weirdness, not the evil weirdness.

As he rounded the building to get to the station wagon, a bright pink _something_ scuttled by as if being chased by something. Dipper shook his head, pretty sure that was Grunkle Ford’s missing lure and positive it was a good weirdness.

When he looked up and saw just what the little thing had been fleeing, he knew he was looking at an evil weirdness. His pallor made black eyes seem even darker and Dipper could almost swear another set of far beadier eyes were peering at him through what might’ve been a thatch of barely-twined straw or someone’s sorry excuse for a wig. The stench of him was like a wall and when he stepped closer, Dipper’s eyes watered and he had to take his own step back. It was like sulphur on steroids. Maybe - _maybe_ \- he could’ve tolerated it had the guy been a patron in the Mystery Shack just because, well, summer tourists weren’t the most pleasant smelling people around, but he and Mabel would’ve followed him armed with cleaning wipes and aerosol cans of air freshener.

Then again, if he had to be in an enclosed space with this guy, he wasn’t sure how close he’d be able to follow before the fumes took him out.

He cleared his throat, trying very hard to not breathe through his nose. “Uh. Hi. Can I- Can I help you?”

“No,” the man grunted, tilting his head to one side as he considered him with his black eyes. He huffed, lips pulling in a sideways sort of smirk that promised nothing good for any unlucky person to be on the receiving end of it. “Not yet, anyway.”

That was ominous. Dipper took another step back, trying to think of his available escape routes. His only weapon was an unbreakable fishing pole which, while useful, was not the most helpful item in this sort of situation. But running to get weapons and backup? Very helpful. He needed information too because, while he certainly appeared human at first glance, there was something... off. Something incredibly, dangerously off, and Dipper didn’t quite know how bad that was until he heard a snap and suddenly found himself stuck in place. His feet, no matter how hard he tried to move them, weren’t budging. 

“How- Who are you?” His voice fought not to quaver. 

“I don’t think that matters.” The grass and dirt at the man’s feet began to shift, pale, thin tendrils disturbing the earth.

No, not tendrils… _maggots_. Dozens of them - hundreds, possibly - poured out of the ground like was a colander, with holes the perfect size for the squirming insect larva to seep through. They wriggled and writhed their way towards Dipper, tumbling over one another in their haste.

And someone far too familiar sighed gustily from behind Dipper. _No_. 

"You can't eat the kid, Hastur. Sorry. Try to be a little more subtle."

Hastur scoffed, expression curdling like spoiled milk. “Where’s the fun in that?” Still, the maggots ceased their writhing and were reabsorbed into the earth. “Wasn’t going to eat him though.”

Dipper doubled his efforts to escape, still unable to move as Bill sighed from somewhere behind him. “Just a quick slice is all I need. We're playing the long game here. It's more fun to wear them down.”

“It’s more fun when they’re dead.”

“All in good time.” 

“Whatever you’re planning won’t work, Bill. We’ll-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don’t need an inspirational quote, Pine Tree.”

Despite being told off for it, Hastur flexed his hand and a knife slid out from within the sleeve of his baggy, ratty, old trench coat. He stalked towards the boy with a menacing glower, whatever magic or spell he’d done to him kept him as rooted to the ground as a stubborn weed. Fisting his grubby fingers in the collar of Dipper’s shirt, he unnecessarily held him in place as he gazed down at him. Searching him. 

A glint of something satisfied shone in his dull eyes, then the hand holding the knife darted forward and sliced through his shorts, right over his thigh. Right into the sigil tattooed into his skin. A jagged line broke up the mark protecting Dipper as blood welled up and soaked into the fabric of his clothes.

His knees tried to buckle, but they couldn’t. He started to yell, a rare helpless feeling working in, but someone else kept him quiet. It was as if he was a jar, steadily filled, invaded, and he choked on the demonic flood. Whatever had kept him still ended as his eyes flashed red then gold, and his lips pulled into a wicked grin as he took a step back. The wound scarred over, marring the sigil and the blood drained from his shorts.

Bill looked at Dipper’s hands and chuckled, low and dark. And short, Dipper’s nose wrinkling. It had been a long time since the demon had last smelled Hell and, oh, it had not gotten better. He turned off the sense of smell. “Well done, Hastur. This is gonna be fun.”

“Now what?” Hastur grunted, releasing the fragile human body. “Do we burn down his house now? Make his family boil alive from the inside out?”

Dipper’s body sighed. “Does that sound long game to you?”

“This is already the longest I’ve been up here without torturing someone,” he grumbled. “What use are the rest of the humans now that you have this one?”

“I'm not fully taking this one. Not yet. I need to take a trip, and I'm going to torture him for a little while.” There was a struggle already, something unseen but very distracting. He needed more than what he had, and he'd get it. “My way.”

Hastur scoffed, the expression on his bone pale face unimpressed, though to be fair, his range of expression was rather limited to different shades of bland. Like flavorless porridge if it was set in someone’s face. “Don’t forget it’s also Hell’s way, Cipher. To bring eternal damnation to the surface and raze all of Heaven and Earth until they’re no better than the blackest pits of Hell. You might be calling the shots, but Hell’s loading the guns.”

“Don't use up all your clever wordplay at once. It's so early in this working relationship.” One eye flickered brown, so it closed. He definitely needed more power from somewhere and something new... 

_Oh_. In Dipper's memories, he could see Stanford at the beginning of the summer, before Music Note and Tea Kettle had landed. He'd collapsed in the middle of the kitchen and, several hours later, had awoken with an, “Well! That one certainly worked faster than the other three.”

“Other three what?” 

“Sleeping pills,” he announced with the sort of smile which attested to the mad scientist in him. “How long was I out?”

In his mind, Bill rubbed his hands together gleefully. Perfect. Good old Ford.

Outside his mind, Dipper’s body waved a hand. “We’re done here. I’m going to remove the memory from the kid, and I don’t need him seeing you. As far as he’ll be concerned, nothing happened.”

“But something did happen.” Hastur frowned at him, the cogs of his mind stuck like they’d been drenched in tar.

“Yes, I know that and you know that. I’m going to drag the memory out of the kid’s brain so _he_ won’t know that.”

Hastur grunted in vague understanding. “So we can continue lurking in the shadows. Yes. Good plan- er. Bad plan. Evil.” Nodding to himself, he backed away from the possessed boy, concealing himself in the forest surrounding them. “Not that I trust you, Cipher. You’ve still got a lot to prove. This had better work.”

Dipper’s mouth sneered. Bill didn't need a demon's trust. Really, he didn't deserve it. But he wasn't dumb enough to say that out loud, not when he could still _use_ the guy. “Yeah, yeah. It'll work. These kids aren't going to win.” Not again and certainly not alone. 

Inside Dipper's Mindscape, Bill slammed a door shut and ripped it off the wall. He set it aflame, smiling at a twelve-year-old version of Dipper, dressed in a preacher's garb. And then he picked up the fishing pole Dipper had dropped and left. 

Dipper turned, wondering what the pink fishing lure was scampering away from. Before he could check, a window nearby swung open and Mabel leaned almost her entire body out of it, waving excitedly. 

“Dipper! Why haven't you told Wirt about the carnival?!” 

“It hasn't come up,” he called back. 

She pretended to swoon. “You're just hiding how much you want to ride the tunnel of love with him.”

Color flooded his face. The only demon he knew about was his own twin. “Shut up!” 

\----

Three-eyed wooly mammoths, a crash-landing alien saucer, settling pioneers with distinct log cabin structure, forgotten presidents, stampedes and horses, and themselves. Well, their future selves. Dipper was still reeling from it, days after the carnival had been cleaned up and packed away for the next summer. The promise of so many tomorrows was an exciting one, but he’d played with time enough to know that he had to put in the effort. He and Wirt both did. Nothing was guaranteed. 

But that sort of happy future, where they were happy _together_? It was worth every effort. 

Which was easier said than done when part of that effort maybe involved Bill. Probably. Very probably. His effect was subtle, but Dipper was paranoid already and he just _knew_ when the triangular demon had something in the works. Even when that something was mild, a teasing reminder that he was around and that he had the potential to never leave. Future them hadn’t seemed like Bill was a looming threat, but then future them also had a duty to avoid lizard future and were apparently a little more responsible than current... well, current him anyway. People were more likely to call Wirt responsible than they would him when it came right down to it.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and glared at his bulletin board. The Bill one may have been turned away more often than not, but it was still always there. Just like Bill himself. Ugh.

He didn’t want to tell anyone that, though, didn’t want to remind anyone. Especially not Wirt, not while he was finally starting to try. No, that wasn’t right. He’d _been_ trying. But there was... It was different, had been different since the carnival. There was a touch more confidence in the attempt, and it swelled Dipper’s heart. It also made him nervous. He didn't want to pile on too much. 

Speak of the devil, Wirt came strolling into the attic with a sigh that morphed into a laugh all too easily. “Boy, I don’t know how Mabel does it. Knitting is just as hard as I thought it would be. I told her she was getting in over her head when she offered to teach me,” he pointed out as he crossed to his boyfriend, instinctively going to him while he was sat in his computer chair to lean down and give him a kiss, but he stopped when the look on his face registered. “Hey, you okay?”

“No, yeah, I'm- I'm okay. Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly. “Don't not kiss me on my account.”

“Of course I’m still gonna kiss you.” Wirt shook his head, concern shifting to something more fond as he finished bending towards him and letting their lips brush. “The sunflower petals of my heart crave a taste of the sun. Summer starlight on my lips when I turn to bask in you.”

Dipper couldn't help the little giggle that escaped. No matter how embarrassing it was, it was hard to resist his boyfriend's mouth when it gave both kisses and poetry. “Saying 'ditto' would probably just make you sigh at me, huh?”

Wirt over exaggerated his sigh just to hear that precious giggle again, dramatically drooping down so his forehead rested against Dipper’s shoulder. “‘Ditto’ is really what you want to go with? Really?” he teased, nipping kisses along his neck to keep him laughing, to cheer him up.

Even if he said he was okay, there’d definitely been something bothering him. A clouded glaze in his eyes and dark furrow to his brow. Something was brewing in that brain of his.

Dipper wiggled in his seat, though it was never enough to discourage the attention. “It's not my fault you consistently break my brain.”

Wirt let up with a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You should work on building up some sort of immunity to that.”

“Ooh, does that mean I'll get even more kisses and poetry?” 

“So much kisses and poetry, you’ll be sick of it,” Wirt laughed, tugging on the bill of his cap so it covered his eyes, then went over to sit on the edge of his bed. “But seriously, you looked pretty deep in thought. Want to talk it out?”

Yes, but no. “Just a lot of future stuff, I guess. Traveling through time can be a lot to take in.”

“Yeah. I still can’t believe we actually saw _us_.” Wirt glanced down at his lap, plucking at his sweater sleeves. “Like I know that anything can change the future and it’s not set in stone, but… whatever we’re doing now is hopefully setting us up for that path, right?” He looked back up to catch his eye once Dipper straightened out his cap. “I mean, that’s… that’s something you want, too, right? That future?”

“Nothing would be cooler than a future with you.”

“Pfft. I think that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Wirt replied blandly, but it had done the trick to set him a little more at ease. “I just want to make sure it’s something we both really want. I mean, the future’s… so much could happen and you know, right now we’re kinda focused on college and just getting through the rest of this year, so it’s not like I’ve personally really thought beyond that, but… I know I want to be with you. Whatever that looks like.”

“It looked happy, and that's all I want for you. I mean, it's all I want for both of us. So, yeah, we'll see what happens in our ten years. I know I'm looking forward to it.”

Wirt tilted his head, lips pursed as he considered the slip Dipper had made. “I… I am happy here with you, you do know that, right? Even if I'm unsure about being able to handle some things, I'm still happy. Being with you is worth trying.”

“No, I- I know. I'm just...” Dipper bit his lip. “You're not the only one who worries. You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true…” Wirt glanced away again. “But you don’t have to worry about that with me. Even if… even if I did decide I can’t keep up with the weird stuff and the paranormal, that doesn’t mean I want to give up on us. We’d just… we’d just have to work it out, right?”

This was home. All the weirdness and paranormal was part of it. He'd been fascinated by it all long before that first arrival to Gravity Falls, and being there had only fueled that fascination. And Wirt _could_ keep up. He was smart in such interesting ways. Dipper still couldn't get over the fact that he'd narrowed their timeline based on architecture and had ridden a horse through a stampede just to pull him to safety. Wirt was incredible. He could keep up if he wanted to. 

Which was the crux of it, wasn't it? Wirt had to want to. And who would want to do anything involving Bill? 

“I think so. I think we _could_ work through it. We're both pretty stubborn.”

“Yeah,” Wirt huffed, a strength and flaw for them both, and could only hope that this time it’d be their strength. “I mean, if anyone could make it work, it’d be us. Clearly we did something right in one timeline.”

“Obviously. I bet it's across multiple timelines.”

“You think?” Wirt allowed his lips to quirk up. “How much are you willing to bet?”

Dipper laughed. “Everything I've got, babe. I'd put all the odds on us.”

“Oh, obviously if you love me enough to quote BABBA songs at me.” His own laugh spilled out at Dipper’s grin.

“It's the best poetry I can muster, boyfriend of mine.” Dipper rose and crossed over to sit next to him, banishing worries over Bill for the time being. “How was knitting, though? Tough, but you'll stick with it?” 

“I think I might just leave it to Mabel for now. It did help ease my old anxiety, but only by giving me something new to be anxious about,” he chuckled, leaning into Dipper. “I know it'll take practice, so we'll see. It's just kind of intimidating when you look at how good Mabel is. You know?” 

“Yeah, but I think she learned how to knit before she learned how to read. You can't get a better teacher.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of it for now. There’s something else my fingers would rather do.” Wirt lightly traced a circle against the back of Dipper’s hand with his fingertip.

He tipped his head, genuinely confused as he glanced down at their hands. “What?” 

Wirt shook his head, smile full of amusement as he took Dipper’s hand in his and brought it up to his lips. “You’re really cute. Nevermind, I was just thinking it’s been a while since we’ve played together. Sousaphone and clarinet duet. Do you want to?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiled, cheeks pink and pleased. “I always love when you play.”

“I know.” Wirt gave his hand a squeeze, then let go to dig out his clarinet and assemble it for an impromptu concert. 

It was something they were used to, playing for one another, even if most of the time it was via video chat rather than in-person. Poetry and clarinet - as embarrassing as they were still - never failed to cheer Dipper up when they were states apart, so he hoped it would do a little good now. Because even if he was smiling and teasing and quoting BABBA, there was an undercurrent of something beneath his words. A tension gently reverberating like a plucked guitar string, its hum filling the silences where companionable quiet had once been.

Dipper wasn’t saying something. Wirt could tell. They’d been together officially for a year now and he liked to think he knew when his boyfriend was hiding something at this point. Yeah, he didn’t know everything about him - and liked it that way, it was nice to know there’d always be more to discover - but he knew what hiding looked like. Or maybe not hiding, that sounded purposeful and this seemed more like he just didn’t want to think about something. There was something on his boyfriend’s mind and it wasn’t something he wanted to share.

No stranger to private thoughts and worries, the timing of it all was just a little odd. A part of Wirt wondered if it was really about how he’d reacted to the fishing trip and how they’d been playing it a bit safe since then. The carnival didn’t really count, that hadn’t been a planned adventure, and seeing their future selves had been a balm Wirt hadn’t known he needed. He thought it had been that way for Dipper, too.

Apparently not, even if he said otherwise. Wirt just couldn’t think of what else could be bothering him. Things had been rather quiet on the mystery front so far, so there wasn’t much there that could be distracting Dipper. 

Wirt thought about the promise he’d made to himself and Mabel, to keep Dipper feeling loved and special every day that they could spend together this summer. It didn’t feel like he was particularly successful so far, his own worries and fears getting in the way. Every time he thought he was making some headway on getting himself under control, he’d step outside and feel as though an oppressive weight bore down on him.

It was like how he’d felt at the lake, except this time there wasn’t any _reason_ for his throat to tense and his heart to shiver in his chest. It was a feeling that had him looking over his shoulder constantly, searching the shadows in the corners for anything like he’d felt the previous fall. Because it felt like that. It felt like there was another presence looking down on all of Gravity Falls, waiting…

Well, maybe Dipper wasn’t the only one who wasn’t saying things, but the last thing Wirt wanted was for Dipper to think he wasn’t trying to meet him halfway. Or that he was looking for excuses to not like Gravity Falls or that he couldn’t separate Bill from this place. Bill had caused Dipper and Mabel more chaos than he had to the Palmer-Whelan brothers. If they could see past his influence and stake a claim on this place as their home, then Wirt couldn’t use Bill as an excuse not to try as well. 

Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t Bill. It couldn’t be. It was probably all in his head, just his own brand of self-sabotage. Things were going too well, otherwise, of course he’d have to find something to worry about. Maybe that was what was happening to Dipper, too. They were finally together for a long stretch of time, with one more year of high school to go. Apparently they had to find something to angst about, even with a positive future on the horizon.

“Okay,” he said, brandishing his clarinet and a smile as he faced his boyfriend. “Any requests?”

\----

So Hell wanted to help him out.

Worlds traveled by in a blink, spiraling like stars in their galaxies as he floated between time and space. Dimensions were never-ending, the timelines unfathomable. But he liked them. He’d spent the better part of four thousand years learning their ins and outs. The first two thousand had been spent almost desperately trying to drum up interest in his little corner of the world, but Hell was so impatient, so boring. By the time humans had begun to really settle in, downstairs had deemed it a failure and the demon Cipher with it.

But he wasn’t one, no. They just didn’t understand the scope of him. They didn’t understand why he’d let his body burn away or why he chose to stay as a discorporated being. And if they had, even Hell wouldn’t have approved. It went beyond their pitifully narrow, unimaginative _Great Plan_. Screw the Great Plan. No one had ever been able to see that there could be something different. They didn’t have to _wait_ for a new war. They could make it happen.

He’d just needed to get stronger, more tangible. If he could manipulate the world without a body...

Well, it was worth a few losses in other dimensions. In some versions of Gravity Falls, Dipper Pines never even met Bill Cipher. He was already dead, his powers absorbed, before the kid ever showed up on his bus. In others, he’d meet him once and never again. He’d seen and changed a billion different versions of Gravity Falls, carefully siphoning off power from each one until he grew strong enough to set off Weirdmageddon, to show them all.

And what had Hell done then? Bubbled him, contained him, _chained_ him. Oh, sure, they’d put out an all points bulletin on Dipper. Kill on sight - great, who cared? He’d been _cast out_.

“The demon Crowley iz keeping watch over the Antichrizt,” he’d been told at his trial. All of his energy had backfired on him, leaving him vulnerable to being held in place by other demons even while discorporated. “Your interferenze is dangerouz to the cauzzze. Your punishment iz to watch it happen from the zidelinezzz.”

And into a porous, wasteful brimstone body he’d gone. Dropped back onto Earth to _wait_ for the boring, stupid Great Plan. 

Too bad they hadn’t been smart enough to seal him in properly. He’d been out by November, made a quick appearance in California to kill some kids (or try), and he’d been back in Gravity Falls to flutter through dimensions. He hadn’t been strong enough then, but he would be now. No demon would ever be able to hold him in place again.

Except now Hell wanted to help, huh? Wanted their fight so badly they were willing to let Bill’s crimes go. Hilarious. They’d regret it. Everyone would.

When he burst out of dimensions and back onto the physical plane, he shattered something in his insistence on bringing so much more back than normal. The pure demonic energy smothered the town and rippled out into the world like a beacon. Unlike the Antichrist, Bill didn’t have an automatic defense thingy to keep him hidden when his power grew.

And one demon and one angel knew how their world _should_ feel very, very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second update will be taking place this week to make up for last week's hiatus. Thank you, everyone, for your patience and understanding as real life gets in the way!
> 
> Feel free to come hang out with us on Tumblr in between updates! We're [skimmingmilk](https://skimmingmilk.tumblr.com/) and [syl-writes-stuff.](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! To celebrate, we're posting chapter 5 a bit early. We're also making up for the lack of an update last week, so Monday will also have an update as well.

_London_

_Present Day_

The previous August, while the Mystery Best Friends were just beginning school and long-distance relationships, a demon and an angel, four children - one of whom being the Antichrist - a (former) hellhound, and four human adults of varying ages and maturity levels were saving the world. As far as the angel was concerned, it had been a job well done. He was happy enough to live in the world they'd rescued and fill it with all the miracles and blessings he wanted to give. 

The demon was still very fond of mischief, would likely always be, and that was also something the angel was happy enough with. Said demon knew it, too, watching him flutter about the kitchen. A year ago, it hadn't existed in the high-ceilinged flat, its dark walls painted with light streaming from impressive windows and sparsely decorated. His office had a desk, throne, and television. His bedroom had a bed. And most everything else was blank or filled with plants that trembled when he walked by. Unless he walked by with the angel. They knew better. 

But now, with said angel, had come a kitchen and a very minute trickle of clutter. He had a couch now and a narrow armoire for clothes since the angel actually _bought_ them instead of whisking them into being as the demon tended to do. It was much simpler, really. 

Since he wasn't actually reading the paper, he set it down and rose to stop the busy movements and guided him to the table with firm hands on his shoulders and determined ignorance of his protests. Maybe if he sat, he'd talk about whatever was in his busy mind or distract himself. He had a feeling he knew what it was anyway. Something in the world felt... off.

They'd been left alone since stopping the Apocalypse and neither expected it to last, but this seemed fast for the demon. Angels had paperwork and Hell was lazy. It had taken sixty centuries to work up to the first war and now they didn't have a Great Plan telling them what to do. They should have more time than a year, but there was... something happening. They both knew it, were both spending the morning avoiding it, and he'd officially had enough. 

"Sit _down_ , Aziraphale. Gonna drive me up a bloody wall. I'll finish fixing your tea."

“Honestly, Crowley.” Aziraphale turned and politely removed one hand from his shoulder. “If preparing my tea is all that it takes to drive you spare, then perhaps it’s _you_ that should find a way to distract yourself,” he huffed, distracted enough by whatever this something was that it took a moment for him to realize how rude that sounded. And in the demon’s own home, no less. His bristled posture eased up some as he gave his hand a gentle pat. “Don’t miracle the milk. It never tastes the same.”

"Fine. I know you still have some here. Now sit. Talk." He broke away from him. He didn't miracle milk, but he snapped the kettle into whistling so he could pour steaming water over the sugar cubes Aziraphale had already added to his angelic mug. It was one of the few possessions that went back and forth, though Crowley was _never_ going to admit to the kick he got seeing it in his sink or cupboard. "I know you feel it."

“Feel what?”

Crowley didn't look back. "I'll miracle the milk."

Aziraphale gave him a long-suffering look nonetheless and tugged on his waistcoat - a necessary staple to his attire, even in the comfort of one’s home - and took a seat. “Foul fiend,” he murmured, well-aware the demon could hear him, but he straightened his posture as he watched Crowley’s hand lift to threaten a snap, ultimately relenting. “I can’t quite explain it. Still trying to sort it all out, I suppose. I take it you sense something, too?” Concern creased his brow, Hell did make the first move the last time something was afoot. “Have you heard from anyone?”

They'd been together three full days. "Would've said something by now, angel. All that's new is the paper," he pointed out, grabbing and pouring milk into Aziraphale's tea after some mental insistence that it steep faster. 

Aziraphale eyed the paper as if it had insulted either one of them, but picked it up regardless. While the freedom of the press was important to keep people well-informed, he had to cluck his tongue at the wild biases of both the _Infernal Times_ and the _Celestial Observer_ , only keeping up with them in the event something noteworthy was mentioned from either side. So far, they served as little more than a gossip rag.

“I really should open the shop at some point this week. It wouldn’t look right to have my own subscription stacking up on my doorstep.” Aziraphale paused in the middle of shaking out the paper as a thought occurred to him. With a snap the copy of the _Celestial Observer_ that had been waiting outside the bookshop for his return appeared on Crowley’s kitchen table. “There, that should balance things out. Perhaps one of these will shed some light on this peculiar sensation.”

"And you didn't even need to open the shop to do it." Amused, Crowley set his cup and saucer beside the paper before he stole it. He'd already tried and ignored Hell's paper, so why not? Heaven's was always good for a laugh. "Could be they're gearing up to try again. Adam's next birthday's comin' up. Coupla months."

It was an idea. They exchanged quick looks before attentions went to the papers. Neither of them liked it. 

The headline for Hell wasn’t too out of the ordinary, Aziraphale found. Apparently Hell’s occupational safety seminar ended with twelve dismemberments, three beheadings, and the break room caught fire because someone forgot to turn off the coffee pot, a complete disgrace, everyone was going to be docked their infernal wages for the next thirteen years and the annual picnic was cancelled. They expected triple the dismemberments next time.

Then there were the usual updates in new effective torture methods, and tips and tricks to get those wishy-washy souls in Purgatory to make up their minds already and join the ranks of the damned, all of which Aziraphale skimmed just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything important. The weather, the classifieds, everything seemed on the down-and-down for Hell.

But then something caught his eye. While Earth was mentioned from time to time, very rarely were particular places singled out unless something akin to a genocide occurred there. Or if a place had a name that tickled their fancy, like Devil’s Dyke. Apparently it was good for summer walks. Curiosity piqued, Aziraphale read the article to see just why a town would be noteworthy this time. Then he read it again. Then he sat back, frowned at the paper, leaned forward, and read it a third time.

“Crowley,” he started, still looking at the newsprint, “since when does Hell have a colony in the Americas?”

The question didn't surprise him. He'd been watching Aziraphale read instead of looking at the pages himself, so had known he'd struck something. The contents, though, were curious. "Mm. 4001... No, 4000 B.C. Or was it 3999? 'Round there anyway."

" _Why_?" 

"Ehhh... Y' know, why not?" Crowley shrugged, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hands. "God created the world, did a bang up job, so _obviously_ it's all meant to be fine and good. So Hell decided to maybe have some fun with a patch. Maybe pluck away at the fabric of reality. I mean, what could go wrong, really?" 

“What could go- _Crowley_!” Aziraphale’s gaze finally snapped to him. “You’re saying that Hell has laid claim to a corner of the Earth for thousands of years and you didn’t think to tell me? ‘Plucking at the fabric of reality-’ do you even hear yourself?”

"Well, it's not as if it _worked_. The whole plan was to, y'know, sow the seeds of evil and it all just ended up a bit... off instead. Demon in charge went a bit bonkers and head office sort of forgot about it. It didn't seem important enough to mention."

“‘Off?’” He shook his head. “‘Bonkers?’ Crowley, there is an unprecedented amount of occult activity centered in one place. Bears with multiple heads, alien crash sites, objects that defy all laws of physics… and all within easy reach of the humans that live there seems a little more than just ‘off.’ And look.”

Aziraphale smoothed out the paper, pushing it into Crowley’s space so he could get a better look and pointed at the most concerning line. “This ‘bonkers’ demon has been going off and possessing children! I should think that would be worth mentioning!”

"He still doing that? Thought he stopped after that failed attempt to jumpstart Armageddon." The moment that sentence was out, Crowley had to fight not to wince. Maybe it had been worth a mention. 

Aziraphale certainly seemed to think so, as his gaze hardened. “I’m afraid you might need to repeat yourself, my dear. I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” he spoke far, _far_ too calmly.

" _Listen_ , it was a few years ago, we were busy with Warlock - _actual_ Armageddon, remember?" Crowley waved a hand towards the paper as if it was its fault this conversation was happening. "Hell bubbled the area, contained it so it would sort itself out, it did, all's well."

“A demon tried to accelerate Armageddon while we were trying to _thwart_ Armageddon,” Aziraphale laid out, as if to clarify for himself just where it made sense that Crowley would neglect to tell him something of this magnitude. “Which would have rendered all our hard work useless,” never mind that the actual events that had conspired had rendered the eleven years they spent on the Dowling estate useless anyway, “but it was all tickety-boo because Hell contained it. The same Hell we fooled by swapping bodies and that you have spent many a conversation regaling me with stories of their incompetence in grave detail, yes? That Hell?” 

Crowley really wished he had his sunglasses. Easier to hide that way since, "Well, when you say it like that, it really sounds like something I should've said." Aziraphale still looked furious, so Crowley plucked up his phone to give him something else to look at. "Right. I'll just book the next flight to Oregon for us then."

“Yes, see that you do.” He rose from the table, tea untouched and abandoned as he headed for the bedroom.

It was more than just anger, though he’d grown used to latching onto that particular emotion over the years with a something akin to a clenched fist when it came to disagreements with the demon. He could pretend it made the time they spent apart easier to bear, that it meant he was still a good, righteous angel and that he should be at odds with his adversary. But they were past that now, had been for centuries honestly, but the commitment to their side was still so new. What was a single year to beings who walked the Earth for thousands? It hurt, just a little, and that only irritated him further because it was silly of him. They hadn’t been on their side then. Crowley had no obligation to tell him anything, even with the Arrangement in place. It wasn’t like Aziraphale told him everything either… he kept his cards close to his chest up until the very end.

Aziraphale released some of the tension knotting up inside him with a sigh, retrieving his suitcase and painstakingly packed it by hand just to draw out the process and give him time to stew. Surely Crowley didn’t mean anything by not telling him, of course not. But that didn’t mean he was going to let him off the hook so easily.

And Crowley hated dangling from it. Aziraphale didn't talk to him in the car, not even when Crowley had shrunk his beloved Bentley down and tucked it in his coat pocket with his phone. He didn't talk to him through the security line that they simply bypassed without anyone looking twice or when they boarded the plane. They were the last to board, the plane having been held for them even though no one knew why they were holding. 

Crowley also didn't talk to him, just as stubborn. Almost. He broke an hour into the flight. "You can't _not_ say anything to me for a whole eight hour flight. D'you have any idea how dull that's going to be?" 

Aziraphale silently opened a book. 

"Is that _War and Peace_?!" 

More silence. 

Crowley slouched in his seat, irritated further by the lack of anyone behind him. There was no one to slam his seat back against. He _could_ kick the seat in front of him, but that would require discomfort for his long legs and probably just upset the angel more so that was out. 

All he could do was fidget and play his music on his phone, silently threatening everyone who even _thought_ about complaining about his lack of headphones, until that bored him and he switched it off.

Three hours in, he broke. "I'm _sorry_. Alright? I'm apologizing and you can't run off because we're on a bloody plane and I'll just follow you anyway. I should've told you at some point."

Aziraphale still didn't say anything, but it had made Crowley feel better. It annoyed him that apologizing to the angel soothed him in any way, but he was able to relax now that the words were out. 

And then an announcement came over the intercom and flight attendants began rustling about. Another opening. 

"There's a meal on this flight, angel. Want anything?" Silence stretched. "Aw, come _on_. I apologized. Why are you still not talking to me?" 

When the hostess asked if they'd like anything, Aziraphale marked his page, leaned forward, and very much did not look at Crowley as he placed his order. And then his gaze was right back out the window. At least the enormous damn book was closed. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, but placed a different order only because Aziraphale wouldn't be able to try his food if he didn't. When she moved on, he pushed up the arm rest between them and touched him. Just a hand over one of his on the book's cover. "I'll tell you now, love. Anything you want to know."

Aziraphale’s other hand lifted, hovering over Crowley’s for a second - and in that second there was maybe the slightest possibility that he’d brush him away - then settled quite firmly atop the bony knuckles to keep his touch right there. The iciness in his eyes had melted as he turned away from the window to seek what he could see of Crowley’s stare through tinted glass. The rest of him followed suit, angling to face him rather than shut him out.

“Oh, Crowley.” His thumb stroked over the back of his hand to further soothe him. “This demon who attempted to start Armageddon… what’s stopping him from trying again?”

He used his free hand to add oomph to his shrug, pretending that he hadn't been about to beg or, well, that he had already been begging. "Dunno. Hell bubbling him up again? Honestly, he was never in my circle no matter how hard he tried to be. Even before the Fall, he was... off-putting. So I don't know much about him, but he's been discorporated for a few centuries. Think he's even stopped using a human-ish shape at this point."

“Like when you look more like a snake, my dear?”

"Something like that. He goes pyramid, I think? Always gold from what I remember. I really didn't have much to do with the place. I got the much better job."

Aziraphale’s gaze dropped down to their hands as a smile tugged at his lips. “I should think so,” he agreed, glancing back up. “But you had somewhat of a hand in it? This… demonic playground.”

"Definitely a playground, but, ah, nothing too bad. I restarted the unicorn population. After I found out the whole point of them going into the Ark two-by-two, I mean. Seemed a nice enough thing to do even though now they've got a whole superiority complex because of it. Wankers." He hummed. "Also turned out to be a mistake since something about their hair helps block my kind out of places."

Aziraphale softened further, smile all but glowing. It was as adorable now as it had been then that a demon with innate carnal knowledge wouldn't know about reproduction. And that saving an extinct species was where he’d laid his hand in… 

The angel gave said hand another squeeze. “I’m sure you did your best. I know how fond you were of them.”

Crowley scowled at him, but let their knees touch. "Well, it kickstarted some things. A handful of demons with no real plan popping up, snapping their fingers, messing with genetics? Place is a mess." Though he didn't rightly know anymore, the extent to which the tiny town had been altered. But he told Aziraphale what he knew - gnomes and fairies, multi-headed bears and giant flying bats, aliens and a president the States had surreptitiously erased from all records. 

This is what made Aziraphale's nose wrinkle. "Who would outlaw _trousers_?" 

"A crazy person. The town and the forest is a madhouse. I'm telling you the demon assigned to it went absolutely bonkers. Cipher!" he remembered. "That's his name. He discorporated himself playing with dimensions."

“Playing with dimensions?” Aziraphale echoed with concern. “How on Earth did he manage that? That’s… well, that’s just...”

“Against every single law in Heaven _and_ Hell? Yeah. Y'know, we all have something crazy we can do. I've got time, he had dimensions." Crowley just had limits. He knew better than to abuse it, so typically stopped time to chat with Aziraphale. "S'why they dropped him there. Smartest and dumbest thing Hell's ever done since he managed to find some rickety prophecy he thought was real and decided he'd start his own Apocalypse." He paused, waiting for Aziraphale to get mad at him again, but they seemed past that, thankfully. "It wasn't part of the Great Plan, so they bubbled it. 

"And... The story is some human kid helped? Kidsss. Buncha humans, anyway, but mainly these kids. S'why I thought he'd stopped possessing them too. A _lot_ happened in one summer and we were busy. I wasn't involved in it."

“I understand, my dear. We had our own parts to play.” He couldn’t help fixing him with a subtle look though. “I might not _like_ that you didn’t say anything, but I understand. Thank you for telling me everything now.”

Their food arrived then, interrupting their intimate moment, their combined influences only able to keep a determined stewardess away for so long. They drifted back into their respective spaces and Aziraphale tucked his book away so he could set everything up on his tray. He thanked the flight attendant warmly as a cup of tea was passed his way, then a second to Crowley, and he added a request for two of those darling little wine bottles of pinot noir. Both bottles would realize that they were a bit older than the existence of miniaturized wine bottles would allow for as soon as their caps were twisted off. Well, one had a cap. The other had an equally darling little cork on principle.

“So, possessing children,” Aziraphale returned to the conversation once they were settled with their meals, sipping his tea and finding it the perfect temperature. “The same children who thwarted him, as it were. Well, that does seem rather suspicious. What do you think he’s playing at?”

"Revenge, possibly? He got himself cast out of Hell so no proper body there, and kids are resilient. Nab 'em young enough and one could probably get to a point where one could actually keep from destroying them from the inside out." Crowley swirled his wine before he took a sip. A good year, he thought with some quiet amusement. Leave it to his angel. "It's the usual ending to demonic possessions."

But the beginning was always the hard part. He'd never taken the time to bother with it himself, couldn’t, but he knew the steps as well as any demon. His mind raced ahead, fingers stilling on the stem of his glass. Despite his fidgeting and fretting over Aziraphale ignoring him, he did know how to be still when need be. Poise and patience were an integral part of most temptations, after all. The difficult ones, anyway, the ones he never asked for Aziraphale's help with. 

Cipher would know the temptation game, too, how to seep in, take over. From what Crowley remembered about him, he'd probably aim with malice first. Always a game with him in some way, always a _deal_ where he never came out the loser and never equal. He'd lost his own Armageddon. He'd lost the boy, too, Crowley remembered. Adam's age then, a bit older maybe. Something about these damn kids... 

But if Cipher was still bothering them, then there was still an option. There was still a _way_ for him to restart it. Hell would probably... Oh. _Fuck_. "Hm."

Aziraphale glanced up from his polenta, dabbing at his lips as his eyebrows lifted in equally patient curiosity. After 6000 years, he knew when Crowley needed a moment or two to sort through his thoughts without distraction. His own mind thrummed with possibilities, but the demon's take would prove to be invaluable given the circumstance.

“What are you thinking?” 

"If he's still bothering that kid, there's still a chance for him to get his Armageddon going and _why_ would Hell stop him this time? Our Apocalypse - the Great Plan version with an Antichrist and all that - failed. Adam wouldn't start it, but there's a demon on Earth who's already proven he's willing and _capable_ of starting one on his own." Which, thinking about, was a little terrifying because couldn't any of them? What was keeping any of them sane enough to avoid trying? 

He set it aside for much, _much_ later reflection. "You _know_ they still want war. What if that's what we felt? The quarantine might be lifted. Unofficially. Which means he might be getting some unofficial help."

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he set his napkin down so he could clasp his hands together. “There were quite a lot of unhappy demons present at your trial. Many itching for a fight. If Beelzebub didn’t step in, a riot surely would’ve broken out." 

"Offended one didn't, really."

Aziraphale ignored him. “I don’t believe a rebellion amongst the lower ranks is outside of the realm of possibility.” Which also equally terrified the angel. They were going to need a lot more little bottles of wine to cope with that line of thinking. “But how would one bring about Armageddon without the Antichrist? If it hasn’t been written, like the Great Plan was, then that would imply this demon came up with one on his own. I was under the impression that imagination didn’t come to them easily. Not like it does for you, my dear.” 

"Word is, bouncing around through dimensions as he was, that he came across some big prophecy that got him all excited. So, no, it wasn't his idea." Flattered, Crowley set aside his empty glass and swapped his full plate for Aziraphale's empty one. "But he's managed to keep himself alive, in a sense, for this long so he has to have _some_ imagination. He's been on that patch of Earth nearly as long as you and I've been here, but he's in a spot that doesn't exactly conform to Earth's regular rules and limitations. Sort of... lends itself to insanity."

“Gosh… Well, when you put it like that.” Aziraphale scooped up a forkful of Crowley’s wild rice and chewed thoughtfully for a minute. “And if he’s been discorporated, as you’ve said, and without a proper body for Heaven only knows how long… well I can’t imagine that’s done his mental state any favors either. I was only down here a few hours without a body and I can’t say it was an experience I’d want to try again.” He couldn’t see anything clearly, all the human senses he’d grown accustomed to had been lost to him, the angelic sense only enough to give him a general idea of what was around him, other than Crowley, of course. “That’s certainly an interesting punishment from Hell. Locked on Earth, without a body. Not the fire and brimstone one would expect.”

"Mm..." Crowley wiggled a hand, coming off as nonchalant even though his knee was against Aziraphale's again. He was there, firm and solid and very much not discorporated. "I heard he enjoyed the fire and brimstone a little too much for anyone's liking. Earth seemed more cruel. Y'know... I _could_ go get his file when we land. Find out more about him."

Aziraphale set down his fork with a frown. “His file? You mean from…” He pointed to the floor of the plane, but meant beyond the plane, beyond the clouds and wind and down past the Earth itself. The nod he received had him puffing up, affronted by the sheer idea of it. “Absolutely not. It’s far too dangerous, Crowley. We don’t even know for certain if he’s the one behind whatever it is we’re feeling. It’s not worth the risk.” He laid his hand on the demon’s knee, as if he’d vanish straight from his seat thousands of feet in the air.

"It makes sense, though. Why else would they put him in the Times at this point? Everyone in Hell knows about him, no need to remind everybody it's there unless they _want_ demons to think about it."

“Which is why we’re going to Oregon in the first place. To do some digging and poke around a bit. On Earth,” he emphasized, maybe a little needlessly, with a gentle pat. “We’ll see what he’s up to and take action if necessary.”

It wasn't worth arguing over for the moment. It made sense, yes, but they didn't know for sure. Besides, Hell's file system was rubbish. It wouldn't be a quick in and out. "Right. We should speed this up a bit, though. If it is him acting up, we've got another four hours til New York and another six hour flight to Oregon. Then a drive. Didn't exactly pick a spot in the middle of things."

“Of course not. Can’t make it easy. Though I suppose it’s for the best in the end. Wouldn’t want humanity falling for Hell’s wiles any more than they already do,” Aziraphale tutted, then polished off the rest of his wine. “Would you like to do the honors, my dear?”

Crowley decided not to point out that Aziraphale had helped him more than once in some tempting. He'd likely never have to do it again. A hand lifted as his lips quirked. "Happily," he replied and snapped. 

\----

He almost missed the sign. Actually, he missed it entirely but the _feeling_ was so familiar that Crowley knew just which turn to take off the highway. More hellish, perhaps, in the early days, but leave it to Americans to comprise a rebellious colony. He really couldn't put his finger on what the difference was, though, but Hell and the feelings it typically inspired wasn’t in the forefront. Despite the heavy demonic energy blanketing it, there was something... else.

His own annoyance took precedence. "There's barely any pavement on these roads," he muttered, tempering his speed enough to look around as they drove through the small town. It was dark, his headlights cutting across buildings that barely seemed to be standing. "I was hoping it'd be a city by now."

“It’s _charming_ ,” Aziraphale replied, hand fluttering over his chest as a familiar sensation prickled against the edges of his angelic senses. “Wouldn’t expect a colony of Hell’s to be charming. Or loved.” He smiled at the demon, taking care to make sure the Bentley’s tires were not harmed by the lack of a proper road. The dirt and pebbles wouldn’t dare so much as scuff the car.

Crowley slanted him a look, sunglasses still perched on his nose despite the late hour. So that's what the odd feeling was, warring with something far more oppressive and demonic. "It wasn't last time I was here, so humans have done their normal thing. It's not Hell's anymore."

“It never ceases to astound me how even in the most bleak and desolate environments, with impossible odds stacked against them, humanity’s resilience and optimism can shine through and circumvent the obstacles. They persevere and set their own course, just like young Adam and his friends.” Aziraphale gave a pleased wiggle in the passenger seat, admiring the quaint, little town.

"S'what makes you a good angel," Crowley murmured, tapping on the Bentley’s steering wheel and stopping abruptly when he saw what looked like a small flock of _beards_ wisping across the street with bottles of aftershave in their whiskers. He tipped down his glasses, but they were still there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been at a loss for words, but that did it. "Well, that's..."

“Odd, yes.” Aziraphale blinked after them, craning his neck to watch as they disappeared into the trees. “Ambulatory facial hair? Not quite the evil I was expecting, though I suppose your mustache from 1970 had to be inspired by something.”

Had he really just called him a good angel? Crowley pushed his glasses back up. "It was in style for the times."

“It was an abomination. It hid your lovely smile.”

Crowley opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came to mind. Speechless twice in under five minutes. It was the sort of record he didn't want. "Ngk." He got back into gear and they started forward again. "Anyway, I'm going to find the pretentious house. There's always one family who thinks they're better than everyone in a town this small."

“And do what? Ask them if they wouldn’t mind hosting us for the duration of our stay?” He’d meant for it to come out a bit haughty, but Crowley’s reaction had him fighting to hide his own smile, pleased as punch to fluster him a little.

"Tch. _Ask_."

That had him stilling and wiped the smile from his face. “What do you mean? Crowley, we can’t just intrude on their own home.”

"Fine, fine. You ask, then, and I'll convince."

“ _Crowley_.”

"Would you rather stay in the car all night?" He could see solid pavement. Fresh, special, _different_. Definitely the town's rich family. He took the turn. "In my very out of place car, out in the open, when an unstable demon is looming? And possibly more. I haven't had a chance to really _look_ , have I?" 

“Of course I wouldn’t rather stay in the car,” Aziraphale huffed, hands folded primly in his lap. “Isn’t there an _inn_? Some sort of temporary shelter for travelers passing through?”

"How should I know?" He gestured at the enormous mansion looming ahead, its gate high and imposing. "They look like they'd have room to spare."

“Yes, but we don’t know these people. They could be in league with the demon, if you’re so concerned about him finding us.” That gave Aziraphale pause. “He could possibly sense us though, couldn’t he? Oh…” The gates did promise a very human level of protection, not that it would stop a demon. Between the two of them it was likely nothing would actually get past their vigilance, but they were dealing with an unpredictable foe, one that was completely unknown to Aziraphale and only vaguely recalled by Crowley. “Fine. We will _ask_. But if they say no, then we are leaving and finding an inn. You have a telephone in your pocket. You can use the Google to tell you where things are.”

Crowley let "the Google" go only because he was impressed Aziraphale knew about the company at all. He could very easily use his phone, but wasn't entirely sure the small town would be on any map and didn't trust that an inn would be worth their time. He'd rather lord over everything atop a mountain, so snapped the gate open and drove straight through. The mansion could be called imposing, but Crowley and Aziraphale had both seen the absolute best in architecture in their very long lives on Earth. There were statues, peacocks, water fountains, hedges shaped like an N and a W. 

The demon smiled, all wicked. "Oh, _yeah_ , this is a pretentious family. American pretentious, so they'll let us in. We're British and you look like you."

“We are very much not British, you know that.” Aziraphale straightened his bowtie self-consciously. “And what do you mean by that? Is this another one of your jabs at tartan?”

"No. It's a good thing you're wearing it in this case." Americans always had their ideas of what wealth looked like on a Brit and the angel very much looked the part in all his creams and that ridiculous tartan. "You _look_ British and you know we both sound like it. Unless you want to walk in all, 'Hello, sir, we're an angel and a demon coming 'round to make sure the whole town's as up-and-up as an idea of Hell can be. Seen any other demons recently?'"

Aziraphale gave him a look. Once the Bentley rolled to a stop around the curved driveway and the lights dimmed, they stepped out of the car. After spending a day of traveling, they should have been sore, stiff, and their clothing wrinkled, but Aziraphale’s coat remained in tip-top condition and their corporations’ muscles barely felt the strain. 

With three sharp knocks to the gilded front door, hardly the most impressive one they’d seen in their time, Aziraphale folded his hands in front of him demurely, to give off a non-threatening image. He glanced sideways at Crowley, noting the way his fingers tucked into his pockets as he slinked up the steps to stand beside him. Or, well, slouch may have been the better term. Aziraphale quite firmly believed that Crowley was the only creature that could lounge while standing.

“Behave yourself,” he reminded him.

"My version of behaving or yours?" 

Aziraphale didn't get a chance to respond, the door opening to reveal a clearly surprised butler. His gaze shifted beyond them to the Bentley and the gate beyond it. "Gentlemen, do you realize how late it is? I assure you the Northwests have gone to bed." 

The name rang a bell, though Crowley couldn't place why. "Yeah, travel took a little longer than we thought. Meant to be here much sooner. So sorry."

The butler made to close the door in their faces. Company had _not_ been expected... or had it? Something whispered over his skin, telling him it would be fine to let them in. It was expected. He had to do his job. He stepped back and opened the door wider, bowing slightly. "Do come in. I'll fetch Mr. Northwest at once."

"Grand." Definitely not behaving, Crowley stepped in and gave the foyer a passing lookover. 

Something prickled over his senses like a spider skittering down his back. Remnants, he thought, of a leftover curse. It was satisfied for the time being and had been a few years at least, but could very easily return. It didn't reek of a demon, though, and he didn't readily sense one. Tracking a discorporated version would be far more difficult, but Crowley was prepared to give it a try once he and Aziraphale were alone again. 

He smiled at him as the butler closed the door and quickly strode away to alert the chain of staff it would take to awaken the homeowners. "Do you remember when we traded lists of politicians under our supposed influence and found out how many of them overlapped? Man who owns this place is definitely the type who'd be on both lists."

Aziraphale tore his gaze from the decor and the odd sensation he’d also picked up on to return Crowley’s smile. “Yes, well, I suppose there’s a little bit of the devil in every good man. Though I hope our potential host-to-be leans more to the light, for our sake.” He did have his doubts based on the lack of goodwill and charity emanating from the ornate and ostentatious manor, but there was the smallest inkling, like a tickle at the back of his mind, that someone in the home practiced at least one of the virtues.

"We'll see. Do _you_ want to do the talking with him? Since you're so keen on asking." 

“I think that would be wise.”

"Mmhm. Just remember I said we were expected. You'll have to fit that into your question unless you want us to look even more suspicious."

Aziraphale suddenly looked quite distressed. “Oh, you did that on purpose. Now I’ll have to lie. Angels don’t _lie_.”

"Oh, really?" He clucked his tongue, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his pants. "How long'd it take you to tell me about Adam? And the Arrangement. Mm. Does fake paperwork count as a lie?" 

“You know why I didn’t tell you right away, and I can’t say that swindling a room out of these people is on par with thwarting the Apocalypse. Or the Arrangement. A necessary evil for the greater good, and quite possibly for the Ineffable Plan, too, I should think.” His composure was rattled, face lightly flushed as he fidgeted and frowned. “Besides… I’m not very good at it. Who knows how long Heaven suspected us of working together in the end.”

"Honestly, probably not long." They really hadn't cared as long as things got done, but that was an argument older than the entire country they were standing in. "For Archangels, they were never as clever as you. But if Cipher is around here trying to get Armageddon up and running, it kind of is on par with everything last year. And we're on top of the whole town, angel. It'll be easier for me to find anything... extra Hellish from here."

“Does the high vantage point really help all that much?”

It truly, genuinely didn’t matter. "High ground always helps, angel. Do you want me to work on the human?" 

It was tempting. Aziraphale considered him for a long pause, well-aware that the slightest purse of his lips would have the demon snapping his fingers, wiles at the ready. Neither minded this unspoken arrangement, the give and take and give part of their dance.

But they were on their side now, they needed to work together on this. Just like with the Arrangement, sometimes they’d have to work in gray areas, and wasn’t that what they fought to protect anyway? What they were still fighting to protect.

“No, my dear, I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, flicking a bit of fondness his way. “Wily old serpent.”

Crowley only smiled, softer than he'd meant, and Preston and his butler began to move again. They'd been unusually still in the hall. Almost supernaturally so, in the youngest Northwest's opinion, but no one noticed her sneaking the occasional peek. 

Particularly not Preston, who rarely noticed his daughter unless she was behaving poorly. "Gentlemen, my man here says the two of you were _expected_? I believe-" There was a pause. "-that's correct. I have no idea how it slipped my mind."

At the look Aziraphale shot him, Crowley just shrugged and wandered a few steps away as if the decor was interesting enough for him to study. 

“Understandable, my good man.” Aziraphale smiled kindly at the man of the house, giving him his full attention to win him over with honest to goodness- well, _goodness_ , in an attempt to make up for the touch of Crowley's influence. “It is quite late, and we sincerely apologize. The drive took longer than anticipated. We intended to call you to inform you of our late arrival, but you see, my associate, Mr. Crowley here, well, he forgot to bring the device that keeps his mobile telephone charged. The poor dear. Jet lag,” Aziraphale tutted, fighting the way his lips wanted to quirk when he felt the demon’s glare in his periphery, thankfully hidden by his sunglasses. “We realized too late, of course. As it goes.”

He was rambling, he needed to get to the point. The butler still appeared vaguely suspicious, an eyebrow steadily lifting. Right, an excuse for why they would call upon him. Of course.

His gaze fell upon a large portrait, one of the man himself, his wife - Aziraphale presumed - and their daughter - he also presumed. It appeared to be recent, the girl somewhere in her teens. She donned a private school uniform, a blazer with a prominent crest on the lapel. A boarding school, most likely. It had been quite fashionable in decades past for the rich to send their children off to a reputable institute of higher learning to make connections, so he recalled. Parents would entertain headmasters and teachers to make a good impression and pave the road to success for their offspring. Sometimes even engage in… _bribery_. 

The thought was a distasteful one, but he hoped that was still the case. He vaguely recalled Crowley having a good chuckle recently over two prominent actresses going to jail over a scam involving their childrens’ admittance to a well-known university. An Aunt Betty, he believed it was? In addition, Aziraphale also hoped that this girl's school was somewhere that required the use of an airplane.

“As educators from the fine establishment of Oxheel Academy, I can assure you we are most embarrassed by our tardiness. It is an utter blight on our decorum, and I assure you is hardly a reflection of our renowned institute.”

Crowley nearly groaned. Why had he let Aziraphale do this? Did _he_ look like a bloody teacher? _No_ , thank you very much. He still reached out to Preston. Magically, of course, to paint a picture of a boarding school that didn't exist. It wasn't difficult, but Crowley wasn't going to tell his angel that their host did not lean more towards the light. Far from it. 

"Oxheel Academy. Right, of course. You were expected hours ago." His brain seemed to shift and readjust, suspicion vanishing into charm, and Crowley had nothing to do with that. He glanced at his wrist, checking a watch that wasn't there. "The time difference must be exhausting. It's practically morning in England, isn't it?" 

“Yes, rather.” Aziraphale had no idea what the time difference was. “We dearly hoped we’d be able to discuss your daughter’s academic prowess and ah…” He faltered, gaze flicking to Crowley out of habit and clasped his hands behind his back. This wasn’t the sort of man who valued the academic aspect of higher learning, unfortunately. “And the er- connections to other students in our esteemed program, tonight, but well. It’s not the conversation one has at such a late hour.”

Crowley decided to throw him a lifeline. "Besides, we'll need to talk to the girl."

"Pacifica? Why?" 

"Well, Oxheel isn't the sort of place just anybody's allowed in. Rather exclusive. Have to be sure her and her family are... up to snuff."

And Crowley immediately went from strange rockstar wearing sunglasses at night to eccentric, _wealthy_ artist. The gold ring on Aziraphale's finger had already given him and his clothes an artistic, old money air, but... Preston's back straightened. "Well, the Northwest family lineage is certainly that."

Crowley could taste the lie. "Well," was all he said, lobbing the ball back to Aziraphale. 

“We’ll just have to make that determination ourselves.” Aziraphale caught it, the smile he fixed on the demon more at ease with him on board, knowing the angle he was going for. “Now, ah, we won’t keep you any longer, just wanted to let you know that we will be calling on you to set up a time where we might interview and observe your family to see that you meet the school’s highest standards of propriety. Though we were hoping that you might have a recommendation for the best lodgings for the next few evenings? We couldn’t see much from the main road as we drove in, you see. This town is much more… quaint than either of us anticipated.” He raised his eyebrows as if he was also taking this into consideration, as if setting mattered just as much as family status. 

Crowley nearly snorted, but only made a sound of agreement. 

"It can be rather unfortunate at night." Preston found a bell, ringing it quickly. "We'll have rooms - a room prepared," he amended at Crowley's mental redirect, "immediately."

He turned away to direct the two maids who appeared at the railings and Crowley sidled up closer to Aziraphale. "Teachers. Really?" 

“What else would you have had me come up with?” he murmured back. “Besides, it worked. But sharing a room, dear? That’s a bold choice in someone else’s home.”

"Big fan of bold choices, me. Besides, it saves us the argument later of me sneaking into your room and you telling me why it's not proper."

“You know me well, darling.” Aziraphale caught his gaze, the smile tugging at his lips held just a hint of playfulness. Enough to complement the bit of a bastard that he was. “Ah, we should fetch our bags, shouldn’t we?” 

"Eh." Aziraphale was the only one with a bag, but Crowley miracled one up for himself anyway and they both appeared at the door where, as far as the butler was concerned, they'd been the whole time. His Bentley was in a garage. 

And Pacifica had seen enough, scrambling up as quietly as she could and speeding towards her bedroom and the phone waiting there. 

"You'd better be up," she muttered, shooting off a handful of texts. 

In the attic of the Mystery Shack, Dipper's text tone pinged. And pinged and pinged and pinged until he disentangled himself from Wirt and rolled over to snatch his phone off the nightstand. He squinted at it with one eye, hoping to keep the effects of sudden brightness to a minimum, and frowned at the repetitive "Be awake or else" messages from Pacifica. 

_"Normal people are sleeping,"_ he texted back, frown deepening when he felt Wirt rustle beside him. He muted his ring tone before he could forget again. 

_"If that was true, no one in this place would sleep EXCEPT your bf."_

True. _"Emergency?"_

_"Quasi."_

_"Going back to bed."_

_"Two Brits just showed up without alerting any security, drove through a gate that was definitely locked, and did some magic. A room is being prepared for them."_

That seemed more than a quasi-emergency. _"Dangerous?"_

_"Can't tell. Froze dad and the butler in place and suitcases popped up at the door out of nowhere and nobody seemed to notice them except me. Thoughts?"_

He wanted to either go get her and have a look for himself or have her leave. It wouldn't be her first breakout. He tapped his phone against his palm, jumping a little when Wirt moved closer, and looked back apologetically. "Sorry. It's- Go back to sleep."

“What’s going on?” he half-mumbled into the pillow, blinking against the light of his phone. “You okay?”

"Yeah, probably. Might have to go get Pacifica," he admitted, sending her both options and getting a dozen eye rolling emojis in response. Well, she'd asked for his thoughts. 

That seemed to wake him up a little more. “What? Why?”

"Somebody showed up at her house and her dad's _actually_ giving them a room instead of, like, immediately kicking them out." To him, that was the most shocking part of the exchange. "And, y'know, there's some magic involved. It's Gravity Falls."

Wirt’s brow furrowed as he wriggled out of the blankets enough to prop himself up on his side, hair that had just been pressed against his pillow sticking out every which way. “That- that doesn’t sound good. Who shows up at people’s houses at…” He squinted at the time on Dipper’s phone. “One in the morning? Besides serial killers. Or burglars. Or mobsters.”

"Witches, maybe. She's gonna sneak out. I'll have to let her in." And, knowing him, he'd meet her halfway. He already had plans for it, sitting up and reaching for his hat. 

“Wait, I’ll come with you.”

Dipper started to tell him to just go back to sleep, but even if he did convince him not to come, he'd stay awake waiting. There wasn't a point in that, so he smiled. "Okay. I'm probably going to grab the golf cart and meet her. She won't be able to just take a car and she shouldn't be walking alone. She's just... stubborn. Like a certain boyfriend I know."

“You’re one to talk.” Wirt rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm to clear the rest of the sleepy fog clinging to him. “I bet she told you that you didn’t need to meet her, but you are anyway.” He slid closer and pressed his lips to Dipper’s cheek. “You’re just sweet like that.”

His cheeks pinkened, smile bright. "What she _actually_ said was 'Don't come up here, loser,' and I don't plan on going all the way up the mountain. So _technically_..."

“You’re a brat,” Wirt laughed and tugged the bill of Dipper’s hat down over his eyes. “Okay, let me just get dressed real quick. If we’re going off on some midnight adventure in the woods, I don’t want to be caught in my pajamas when we inevitably find trouble.”

"The plan is to _not_ find trouble," Dipper protested, flicking on the light as he rose to get his own clothes. When he looked back at Wirt to find him giving him a very pointed look, he couldn't help the laugh. "Okay, okay. Point taken. I'll take the main roads," he promised. 

He kept it, knowing Pacifica would also keep to them and also uncomfortably wary. Being out at night didn't normally bother him, not even in Gravity Falls, but there had been a shift somewhere. He'd felt it since their day fishing, but had nothing substantial enough to say what it was and didn't want to worry anyone - _especially_ Wirt - over Bill's constant presence. 

At least that night he wasn't the only one who felt him.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The husbands are here! Nothing good can possibly come of this.


	6. Chapter 6

Mabel leaned forward, delighted to have Pacifica there and intrigued by the magic tricks she claimed to have seen, but there was something even more important to ask than if she'd been able to hear incantations or whatever was running through Dipper’s conspiratorial mind over pancakes. 

"Big question time," she began. 

"Here we go," Dipper muttered, jumping a little at a swift kick in the shin. 

"Were either of them cute?" 

"They were _old_ ," Pacifica replied, but Mabel continued to look expectant. "No."

"Oh, come _on_."

"No. Ugh." She propped her elbow on the table, chin in hand in a move she was definitely not able to get away with at home. "One of them was, like, giving off some rockstar vibes but in a way that makes you think he was cool back when Queen was."

"Queen's still cool," Dipper protested, listening to her description. They had to know who to keep an eye out for, after all. "Their music is timeless. They'll never _not_ be cool."

"Yeah, whatever. He never took off his sunglasses, so he's probably a dou-" Greg was listening, his trusty frog on his head, so she corrected herself. "He's probably a jerk. And the other guy looked like a lame librarian. He was wearing a waistcoat and a _bowtie_."

"There's nothing wrong with bowties," Dipper muttered. 

"There is when they're tartan."

"I don't know what that is."

"Of course you don't. You don't know fashion."

"Aww," Mabel cooed. "I kinda like tartan. It's like a picnic blanket. I bet Wirt likes tartan. Don't you, Wirt?" 

Wirt blinked as he was drawn into the conversation, hesitating a moment as he glanced between the two girls. “Yeah, I- I don’t mind it. I mean, too much of it can kind of get overwhelming to look at, but I like a little tasteful tartan.”

“It’s what kilts are made of!” Greg added, slamming his syrup bottle on the tabletop in his excitement. “And that’s a rock fact.”

Pacifica groaned. "I should've taken my chances with the witches. At least _one_ of them had a sense of fashion."

"I don't know if they're witches yet,” Dipper reminded her. “I need to see them in action."

"Yeah, well, still waiting on a text from my parents. Still don't know why they're here."

Dipper hummed, tapping his pen on the table. "If they don't get back to you before we're done eating, we should head up there."

Greg gasped, wiggling in his seat. “Can me and Mabel and Jason Funderburker come this time? I want to see some witches!”

“Dipper just said he doesn’t know that they’re witches yet,” Wirt reminded him, doing his best to stay out of the syrup splash zone, then handed his brother an extra napkin.

“I want to see two old magic guys who might be witches!” he amended, with no less enthusiasm.

"We'll need to be careful." It didn't occur to Dipper to say no, pen between his teeth and mind swirling. This was a much better thing to focus on than Bill's worrying presence. No one else had noticed him and that's just how he wanted it to stay. "If the Northwests don't respond, they might be in trouble."

"Or getting more beauty sleep," Pacifica mused, checking her reflection in a compact mirror. "There was an interruption after midnight, after all."

“Rude old magic guys.” Greg grinned. “Even better.”

“Greg, this is serious.”

“I am being serious!” he assured his brother, a little offended that anyone could assume he wasn’t taking a potential witch hunt as seriously as possible. “Pacifica’s the one who brought up beauty sleep.”

Wirt sighed and shook his head, but let it go and leaned into his boyfriend instead. “Why target the Northwests though? Do you think it's some kind of scam? Or a play at power or status? Since your family lives in the nicest house in town and all.”

"They could be fishing for an invitation to our party."

Dipper nodded, leaning into Wirt in turn. "Probably. They didn't feel dangerous?" 

It was easily his tenth time asking, so Pacifica rolled her eyes. "No. It was just _weird_ and since you're the weird expert, here I am." Her phone chimed, so she plucked it up and frowned at the message on the screen. "Okay, here we go."

Dipper reached for the device, letting Wirt see it with him. It was a string of messages, coming in rapidly and coming across as if dictated to an unfortunate butler, so he read aloud. 

"Pacifica, where on earth are you? Your father and I expected you for breakfast. We have guests. 

"They're from a prestigious school in London, and you'll need to make an excellent first impression to make up for this."

"What school?" Dipper wondered, sending the question before Pacifica could stop him. 

"Oxheel Academy," came back and he handed over her phone, then pulled out his own to look it up. If he'd done so any sooner, nothing would have come up, and it did take a little longer than normal for his phone to load the search results. 

Or, suspiciously, _result_. Even if there was only one school, there should be more things coming up. There wasn't a website either, just a picture of something that looked like it could've once been a nunnery. His phone froze when he tried to click on it and zoom in. 

Weird. Even by his standards. 

"We should definitely head up there."

Wirt pursed his lips, concern creasing his eyes. “Should we- uh… should we bring anything? We should probably prepare for this...”

“Do the journals talk about weird rude old magic guys in funny clothes?” Greg asked. “Oh! Maybe Grunkle Ford has seen them before! He’s old!”

Dipper grinned. "Doesn't hurt to ask him, but it's a little hard to say what to bring if they're witches. They're just... normal people who know magic. There are things like protective amulets and crystals, though, so we can grab something out of the gift shop. If they're not witches..." He shrugged. "We could need anything. Holy water, sage... Are you sure they're not dangerous, Pacifica?" 

"If you ask me again, I'll deck you."

Dipper’s lips screwed up, uncertain. "Maybe I'll grab some holy water and sage just in case."

Wirt nodded, taking Dipper’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Just to be safe. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.” And after the events of the previous fall, Wirt didn’t plan on ever underestimating anything odd ever again. “Just because they haven’t done anything dangerous yet doesn’t mean they don’t plan to at some point.”

"Right."

Though, by the time they left, they just missed the Bentley. Or it just missed them. They had things to do. "I'm going to break every single bell in that mansion," Crowley muttered. "What sort of messaging system _is_ that?" 

“A terribly annoying one,” Aziraphale put in. “I won’t stop you if you do. I believe they already might find themselves short a bell or two.” 

It was impossible to get any good reading done when one was constantly being interrupted by the high pitched tinkling sound. It had been charming at first, a nod to an older time period, but the angel’s patience had long since worn thin. Not to mention he jumped the first few times it caught him by surprise that morning. It reminded him of the sound that preceded Gabriel’s surprise check-ins. Unwanted and irritating.

"Bet their kid hates it. He rings 'em with malice. It's no wonder a family like that would have a curse attached." Adding to Crowley's displeasure was the difficulty in speeding. The roads were a joke and pedestrians _meandered_. At least in London they walked with purpose. This was a lot less fun. 

“Watch the goat!” Aziraphale pressed his hands against the seat to brace himself as a yellow-eyed goat stood stock still in the middle of the road and chewed at them.

He avoided it, choosing not to ask why it had yellow eyes. This town was _literally_ Hell on Earth. Not even actual Hell. Just his own personal bleeding-

They stopped at the Mystery Shack. Apt name, in Crowley's opinion. He missed the city. He'd rather be in Tadfield even. "If we're stuck here longer than a week, I'm burning this entire town to the ground."

“Alright, I _would_ stop you if you tried that.” Aziraphale adjusted his bowtie and smoothed his palms along his trousers to rid himself of any creases now that they were safely stopped. “Not all the people in this town are like those Northwests. Somebody here loves it, and it’s such a pure, gentle feeling… There are some things worth saving here, even if it is Hell’s playground.”

"Was. Spoilsport," he complained lightly, sending Aziraphale an unseen glance before he climbed out. 

The energy hit like a brick. The force of it actually made him wince, but he rolled his shoulders and focused on it. It wasn't exactly _new_ energy. "Cipher spends a lot of time in this spot. A _lot_ has happened' round here. There's something under the building."

Aziraphale was at his side immediately, a hand resting against his lower back. "What sort of something?" He quickly scanned their surroundings, no danger immediately presenting itself in the parking lot or the trees. 

"Not a _thing_. More like..." It was oddly difficult to get a read on the space in front of him. "Like a space underground. Basement but Cipher's definitely got an attachment to it somehow. It's just not _recent_. Nothing in there is current, but circling it? He was here as recent as an hour maybe. It must be where the kid spends his time."

Frown deepening, Aziraphale reached out with his own angelic senses. It was unusual for Crowley to have such a difficult time sensing things, especially when they were only a few feet away. His steadying hand remained where it was, a soft sound of understanding passing his lips as he brushed against something. 

"Ah, so that's what it is. That building's protected." Aziraphale nodded in its direction, catching a glimpse of the barrier shimmering around the entire perimeter beyond his corporation's senses. "Clever boy."

Crowley had to actually _work_ to see it, and he really hated that. He'd never been _blocked_ from a building before. Consecrated ground usually kept him out by inflicting some pain, but actually being kept out of somewhere? Humans had never figured out that trick. 

"Unicorn hair," he realized on a groan. "Humans aren't supposed to know they're _real_. We twisted all that up into- into make-believe. How the _Hell_ did somebody figure it out?" 

“Well people do live here. If this place has existed for as long as you've said, then someone was bound to notice something. Humans can be perceptive, when they want to be.” Aziraphale gave him a pat, then ventured closer to the building to inspect it, walking the perimeter. “It’s solid,” he called out to Crowley. “Remarkably seamless. Though I suppose it would have to be if one is being threatened by the occult. Or ethereal,” he tacked on, so Crowley wouldn’t feel personally attacked. “It’s not only unicorn hair, my dear. I’m getting traces of moonstone and… something else, I can’t quite tell.”

It was very telling that these humans would know how to keep him and his kind out, but not an angel. It wasn't in any books Aziraphale had ever gotten his hands on. Crowley hesitated to say what else there was. It was in his nature, self-preservation. 

He wandered closer, was stopped by the barrier before he even reached the angel, so he folded his arms and dropped a shoulder onto it, giving the effect of leaning against nothing. "They know exactly what to do to keep my lot out. This is not _perceptive_ , angel. This would be the equivalent of taking a blind leap and coming out safe and sound on the other side. This is knowledge, plain and simple. I just don't know how they got it."

But he'd know how Aziraphale did. "And it's mercury. Simple enough."

Aziraphale lit up as he recognized it. “Yes, that’s it exactly. Very good, my dear,” he praised, turning to beam at him, expression turning fond as he watched him sulk. “Oh, don’t you worry, Crowley. I’m sure there’s a way to allow you passage, if need be. We’ll figure something out.” 

He returned to his side so they could ignore the effects of the barrier. “And to answer your question, well, I imagine they’d have to have gotten this information from a demon or an angel. Surely no one else would know how it’s done.”

"Doubt it was an angel. It's not exactly common knowledge up there if you didn't know. Hell's not good for much, but they do tell what to avoid." Crowley straightened, hands dipping into his pockets. They only fit because he wanted them to. "For a demon to tell... It had to have been Cipher, but I can't imagine what would've been in it for him."

"And here I thought big bad demon Crawly had heaps of imagination."

The voice reverberated oddly, like speaking through a microphone. It wasn't _exactly_ what Crowley remembered, but it was very close. The top hat wearing, cane twirling pyramid, however, was completely outside of his memory. He’d been blond and human last time they’d seen one another, an eyepatch over one red eye. It was gold, now, slit in the center. Like his own, which was oddly uncomfortable. Crowley only angled his head. "Cipher."

"Snake Eyes. Ooh. And you brought something special with you." He couldn't circle them. They were too close to the barrier, but he did waft in a semicircle as his one-eyed gaze studied Aziraphale. "Don't remember you from the war."

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and gave him the slightest of once-overs. “No, I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you.” 

"Well, I did look a little different back then. Had a meat sack, for one." He looked down at himself, seeming satisfied with the little not-body. Bored with the angel, he sent a smile Crowley's way. "You'll have to tell me how you managed to snag an angel. Very impressive. I almost don't know why Hell hates you."

Almost? Crowley wondered quietly, leaning back against the shield like he didn't have a care in the world. Who'd the crazy demon been talking to? "You might start by not talking around him. Or about him. At all." His smile wasn't nice. "Yeah, that'd be a great start."

"I'd rather have some fun. It's been so long since I had something other than humans for company and, lemme tell ya, as much as I get off on _crushing their hopes and dreams_ it can wear on a guy."

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eye, taking in the tension his posture belied. His own remained stiff, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders straight. It had been a while since he’d conversed with a demon with the intent to keep them from reading him - and when he did with Crowley, it never lasted for long - but this was someone that couldn’t be trusted. Not if he was trying to bring about his own end of days.

“Well, then. Perhaps it would be best if you traveled on elsewhere. If you’re so bored with humanity,” he suggested in a manner that implied it wasn’t exactly a suggestion. If they could negotiate, get him to go quietly, well, that would likely be better for all involved. “Perhaps the Triangulum Galaxy. Seems fitting.”

"No, y'know, I was thinking about just that. But then I thought how much more fun it would be to just stay here. Rip a hole in time and space that's so wide even God gets swallowed by it, and continue on how I like. _Or_ I'll just erase humanity and see what happens. Sit on the sidelines of the next war. You know what that's like, eh, Snake Eyes?"

"Ngk."

Bill floated closer, flipping onto his front like a teenage girl laying on her bed. He even bent what could've been knees and kicked what could've been feet. "I hate to say it, but we've got a lot in common. First, we're not good enough for mom and then, wouldn't you know it, not good enough for dad either."

"I seem to be a bit more satisfied with that outcome than you are, and at least I chose my way out of Hell. I walked out. You were thrown."

"Come on. You're a _demon_. I know you want to play. We all do."

"I don't particularly like most games if other demons are playing. I like my limbs as they are, so thanks for the offer. Gonna decline."

Bill tsked at him, waving a finger. "I'm disappointed, Crawly. You're breaking my heart."

“Actually it’s Crowley,” Aziraphale snipped before he could think twice about it, something cold and hard solidifying in his corporation’s chest as Cipher taunted his demon. “He’s changed it. An exemplary execution of his free will. Charting his own destiny.”

"Right." His eye crinkled in what could have been a smile, and as much as Crowley appreciated Aziraphale sticking up for him, he knew instantly it was in vain. "Did you give the angel some of your venom, Crawly?" 

"Didn't have to. He just happens to be built better than the rest of them." Crowley shrugged. 

"Uh-huh." Bill barely looked at him. In his experience, angels had never liked to be ignored. "Well, it just so happens I'm charting my own destiny too. Comes with being an orphan, I guess. Mine just involves more exciting things than a name."

"Tormenting kids, I heard."

For a moment, a dark, volatile sort of moment, the discorporated demon's wrath bubbled to the surface, and then he was floating on his side, what should've been a cheek resting in one hand. "That's just step one. But I'll let it slide since you guys don't know the rules this time. We're going off book for round two. In true, wild west fashion, so good luck." He did look at Aziraphale now, single eye glittering. "You're probably a little more used to the east."

And then he was gone as abruptly as he'd appeared. Crowley unhappily tipped his head back against the shield. "Bollocks."

“Quite.” Aziraphale rolled his neck and shoulders, losing some of the stiffness even as his irritation still prickled. “I don’t like him. He had no reason to talk to you like that. He doesn’t even know you.”

"I really hate to be the one to remind you, angel, but your lot isn't _supposed_ to like demons." Crowley straightened into his regular slouch. "Demons aren't s'posed to like demons either, really, and I never liked that one."

Some of Aziraphale’s annoyance ebbed, watching Crowley with some uncertainty as he tugged on his coat sleeves. “Yes, well… I was hoping we could nip this in the bud, as it were. Maybe convince him to leave well enough alone. Now I know what you’re going to say about that,” he cut him off before the demon could tell him exactly what he thought of that, “but it was worth considering.”

"No, I liked it. You basically told him to fuck right off to space." Crowley watched him fidget for a moment before reaching out and touching his elbow. "He's definitely planning on restarting Armageddon. I think we need to meet the kid that's caused him so much trouble."

“Yes. I rather think we do.”

\----

Said kid wasn't really in a position to meet anyone, struggling against an almost blinding migraine as they searched the room loaned out to the strange visitors. There wasn't anything to find, really. One set of neatly folded pajamas in the dresser and the empty bag was just as neatly stowed in the closet. A soft wool coat and a perfectly pressed button-front shirt were hung on the racks, but apart from that, it was practically as empty as the suitcase.

Mabel tapped a finger to her chin. "Are you sure there were two suitcases?" 

"The ugly one and a black one. I know it." Pacifica pushed her hair back and laid her hands on her hips in frustration. "Who goes on a trip halfway around the world and doesn't bring _stuff_?" 

“ _Really_ weird rude old magic guys in funny clothes,” Greg hummed as he inspected the room with a narrowed gaze. “Who like really boring books. Not even any pictures.” He tsked as he pointed at the copy of _War and Peace_ in the drawer of the nightstand.

"I don't even think Dipper’s read that one. Have you?" 

"What?" He was seeing spots out of one eye. Something was really wrong if Bill was poking this hard. "No. Just snippets here and there."

Mabel laughed, picking up the enormous book and opening the cover curiously. "Only you would read _snippets_ of _War and Peace_. Wow, this thing's old."

Pacifica looked at it, humming as she grabbed her phone and Googled it. It was a first edition and looked to be in mint condition. "It's worth twenty thousand dollars."

Mabel very carefully put it right back in the drawer. 

Wirt resisted the urge to touch the cover of the book, his fear of damaging something worth more than his life a pretty decent deterrent, and his boyfriend’s pallor another. He sidled up to him, their hips brushing as he kept his voice low. “You okay?”

He started to lie, to tell him he was fine, but it was Bill. "Headache. Came on pretty sudden."

Wirt frowned, lifting his hand to brush his thumb gently against Dipper’s temple. “Do you have something to take for it? Or do you want to go back?”

"We'll have to head back." He smiled slightly. Were they connected? The strangers and Bill? He needed to unload on someone, and Wirt was the best choice. He would as soon as they made it under the safety net of the Shack’s barrier. "Pacifica, you should stick with us."

"And risk dad's wrath? Not today. Besides, we haven't found anything that says they're evil. Just weird. _And_ rich."

“Ooh, good one, Pacifica! I didn’t think of that,” Greg complimented, giving her a thumbs up while Jason Funderburker croaked his agreement. “Really weird, rich, rude, old, magic-”

“Greg, we get it. Now, shh,” Wirt hushed him, holding a finger to his lips, conscious of the headache now pulsing in his boyfriend’s skull.

“You shh.” Greg stuck out his tongue. “Anyway, I think it makes sense for Pacifica to stay anyway. She can be our inside agent and spy on them when they come back!”

"Exactly what I was going to suggest, corporal." Mabel beamed. "As long as you keep all the junk Dipper thinks you should keep."

"It's not _junk._ "

“It’s your spy equipment,” Greg agreed readily. “And arsenal of protection. You never know what kinds of things weird old guys might get up to-”

“Oh my gosh. Greg, stop talking.” Wirt flushed darkly and stopped just short of face-palming himself, shaking his head silently when the kid looked his way.

“What?”

Dipper found his hand, squeezing gently. "It's okay. He's fine. Her spy equipment is her phone, Greg. The stuff I have is to keep her safe."

“Yeah, the arsenal of protection in case the weird old guys try anything.” Greg smacked his fist against his own palm.

"Yeah." He'd missed that part. He reached up and rubbed his temple, Mabel finally clueing in to his problem. He pushed through anyway. "If they do-" 

"I'll call or text you. Like, I'm not stupid."

“Good luck, special agent Pacifica.” Greg offered her a salute. “Oh, send pictures if they do anything really weird or really magic!”

Wirt laced his fingers with Dipper’s, guiding him out of the guest room and into the hall. Maybe he was overreacting a bit, but they didn’t usually have the opportunity to take care of each other during the school year. Plus, it wasn’t really like Dipper to let people see he wasn’t feeling well. It meant it had to be pretty bad if he was physically wincing.

“Let me or Mabel drive us back, okay?”

"What, you think I'm gonna crash?" 

“No,” Wirt scoffed. “I just want you to take it easy and be comfortable. Why strain yourself if you don’t have to?”

"I guess," he sighed dramatically, taking the chance to lean against him. "This is such bad timing."

Wirt looped an arm around his waist to keep him close and supported. “I know. I’m sorry. When we get back you can lie down for a bit and take something for it, and hopefully those guys won’t come back until you start feeling better. I can make you some chamomile tea. Or mint. Those usually help my headaches.” He was babbling a bit, but this was at least something he could help with. Something normal. 

Wirt was still trying to figure out where he fit in with all of the weirdness, and what that meant when it came to being with Dipper while he was in Gravity Falls. If plying him with tea and medicine while snuggling with him in bed and massaging his head was something that would help him, then that’s what he’d do. No question. He wanted to do it anyway. Dipper spent so much of his time taking care of and protecting the people around him, someone needed to look out for him, too.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Dipper’s hat. “Just whatever will help. You can’t take care of the town if you don’t take care of yourself, too.”

"I know. You almost sounded like me until you started scolding me right at the end there."

Wirt stuck his tongue out at him. “Don’t put up a fuss and I won’t have to scold you.”

"I'm not fussing. I'm being very responsible. I told you I have a migraine and I'm letting you take me back home." Dipper smiled, feeling a little better despite himself. "Do I have to drink tea though?" 

“Would hot chocolate be better?”

"That sounds _perfect_. I like your hot chocolate."

“Okay, I can compromise on that.” Wirt returned his smile, pausing to scrunch his nose and very quickly rub it against Dipper’s. “And you are being responsible. I’m very proud. You’ve just got a worry Wirt for a boyfriend, remember?”

"Yeah." Dipper cupped his cheek, stealing a quick kiss. "How about Mabel drives so I can keep my worry Wirt in the backseat?" 

“I like the way your mind works,” he hummed with a laugh. “Even with a migraine.”

“Oh boy, that means I get shotgun!” Greg skipped ahead of them, ready to barrel his way down the stairs. “If this was my house, I’d definitely ride the banister down,” he lamented briefly.

Mabel scooped him up. "What if we got permission from the homeowner? Or pretended that we did?" 

Greg narrowed his gaze. “Pretend that Mr. and Mrs. Northwest said it was okay to slide down the banister?” A grin quickly replaced his suspicious stare. “I like your style, general. Let’s go!”

“Should we stop them?” Wirt asked.

"Let's be real, babe. If my head didn't hurt, I'd be with them. I've slid down these plenty. We taught Pacifica how."

“You two are the worst influences.”

He grinned. "I love you too."

By some saving grace, the only person that witnessed Greg and Mabel’s banister race was the butler and since it wasn’t his house, it wasn’t like it really mattered. Still, Wirt ushered his brother out before he got any other bright ideas like trying to skate on a freshly polished marble floor. “But I want to know what it’s like to live a rich life!” he’d protested, but he must’ve sensed something was off with Dipper, too, because he allowed himself to be tugged along fairly easily.

“If they don’t come back before tonight, can we do a stakeout mission?” Greg asked, buckling into the passenger seat, Jason Funderburker secure beside him. “We can hide in the bushes and wait, then catch them by surprise.”

"We can give it a try, shortstop. Practice on someone else and if you're sneaky enough, we'll do the real thing," Dipper promised, hoping it wouldn't come to that. 

“Aye-aye, admiral.”

Wirt got himself situated in the back, then drew Dipper against him so he could rest his head on his shoulder. “At least this time we don’t have Splinter Man chasing us,” he murmured, thinking back to the year before when they’d only had a week and only just started dating. “Feels like a lifetime ago, kind of.” 

"I know. Crazy."

They'd done a good job of it, though. They'd done good with plenty since then even though it had only been a year. Their first year of many. 

As long as he could get Bill to leave him alone. He wouldn't let the demon turn him into a hermit even though... Well, Dipper hadn't known he could give him migraines like this. He didn't know how exactly to combat it, so maybe he'd talk to Grunkle Ford. As much as he loved Wirt and valued his input, his grunkle would know better why and how Bill was still able to bother him. After all, Bill had been inside his mind even longer than he'd been in his own. 

Yeah. After he let Wirt fawn over him for a little bit inside the safety of the Mystery Shack, he'd catch Grunkle Ford's eye and they'd go to the basement. And maybe after that, he'd mist the doors and windows in holy water. Not a perfect solution since water evaporated, but he'd feel better for it. 

All thoughts stopped when they saw an antique car in the parking lot of the Mystery Shack. Migraine or not, he was the first off the golf cart so he could study it. It was completely out of place in Gravity Falls - which said a lot - and somehow wasn't dirty in the slightest. No car made it through town without some dirt and grime and there weren't even pebbles lodged in the tire treads. Did they even _make_ tires like this anymore? 

It was also definitely British, judging from where the steering wheel was and even the license plate. Oxheel Academy, with its one unopenable search result and picture, had definitely said something about England in its address. 

He grabbed his phone. _"Pacifica, do you know what they were driving?"_

_"Butler says an antique Bentley. Why?"_

_"It's at the Shack. Stay home, we'll keep you updated."_

_"Youd better."_

He pressed the heel of one palm against an eye, taking a few breaths to compose himself, and abruptly realized he wasn't the only one near the fancy car anymore. Mabel was fascinated by it. "It's so _clean_. It looks new."

"Apparently, it belongs to our possible witches." 

“Woah, really?” Greg peered at it from around Mabel. “I didn't know witches could drive cars.”

“What, you think they're going to fly around on broomsticks everywhere, Greg?” Wirt shook his head, but couldn't help eyeing the Shack warily. “Somehow I doubt people staying at Northwest Manor are all that interested in a tour of the Mystery Shack… what should we do?” He glanced between the twins, gaze lingering a bit longer on Mabel for some help in brainstorming. Migraines could be pretty debilitating headaches.

“Give 'em the ol' kickeroo?” Greg suggested. “And tell 'em, 'hey you really weird rich rude old magic guys that like books and nice cars and dress funny, this town ain't big enough for the-' oh, hm. Six of us, I guess. Or should I say seven to count Pacifica? Or nine to count Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford? Or-” 

Wirt placed both hands on his brother's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “We get it, Greg.”

"Maybe we should break into it and see if there are more clues here than in their room," Dipper suggested, everyone - including himself - forgetting the suggestion had even been made as soon as he said it. "We should sneak inside. I think I should grab my holy water squirt bottle from upstairs and we can listen in, see if they say or do anything incriminating."

"We should definitely tell Grunkle Ford," Mabel added. He'd be invaluable with Dipper’s headache. 

“Yeah, I like that plan. Good plan,” Wirt agreed, squeezing Greg’s shoulders again before stooping down to be more at his level. “I know you’re excited, but we really need to be quiet and sneaky, okay? We don’t know where in the shack these people are, or what they want.”

“Roger dodger, captain. You won’t hear a peep from me.” Greg made a zipping motion across his lips.

"Or Jason Funderburker?" Mabel asked, winking at the trusty frog. 

“Nope. He’s an expert in espionage. All his training has prepared him for this day.” Greg hugged him close. “He’ll be quiet.”

Dipper hoped so, leading them away from the gift shop entrance and to the home side. They slipped in and Dipper realized before he reached the stairs that his headache was still there. He stopped dead just to have Mabel plow into him and make them both stumble up a few steps in a heap. 

It was not a particularly quiet way to come inside. "Kids?" Grunkle Stan called, voice sounding just a little slurred. 

"Crap," Dipper muttered, and the twins pushed themselves up. "Go tell Grunkle Ford the barrier's down."

"Bill barrier?" 

"Bill barrier."

She didn't waste time asking how he knew, scurrying off. Dipper scooped Greg up and snagged Wirt's hand. "Roof," he decided. "Let's go."

While they rushed up, Mabel walked through the kitchen, stopping when she saw strangers with her grunkles. Rockstar and a librarian - she could see it. And it didn't really surprise her to see two empty bottles of whiskey on the table as she'd seen them on top of the fridge for years. Though it _was_ unlike Grunkle Stan to drink to excess. Especially so when he was dressed to be a host of mystery. He was hosting the possible rockstar and/or witch instead, amber drops spilling over the edge of his glass as he waved it around. No help there. 

At least Grunkle Ford looked very sober. She stepped closer to him, smile as bright and excited as ever even though he looked very annoyed. The possible librarian and/or witch looked quietly amused while he listened to his lecture. 

"-can't dismiss years of paleontology-" 

"Grunkle Ford!" she interrupted. "Man of the hour. Can I talk to you for, like, five to... fifteen minutes?" 

"Mabel, I-" He sighed, gesturing to her. "This is my great-niece, Mabel. Mabel, this is Mr. Fell."

Her smile upped in wattage. "Hi."

“Hello,” Mr. Fell’s greeting was almost musical, the lines around his eyes crinkling as his smile brightened to match. “Lovely to meet you. Your great-uncle and I were simply discussing one of the greatest practical jokes of all time, so if you have something important to discuss with him, please, by all means.” He made a vague gesture that might’ve meant she should continue with what she came in here for.

If he was a witch, he was probably a nice one, she decided. She'd hold out judgment on the drunk one. "Great! Come on, Grunkle Ford!" 

"Mabel, I'm making sure Stanley doesn't make an idiot out of himself." And was absolutely shocked that someone who seemed so reasonable was some kind of conspiracy theorist. He was determined to talk him out of it. 

But Mabel looped an arm around his. "Please? We're having an important argument about pine trees and Dippin-dots is struggling."

He zeroed in on the clues. "Outside?" 

"Yeah, y'know, around the house."

"Fine. Yes. Excuse me." He barely looked at Mr. Fell before leaving, muttering under his breath, and Mabel just shook her head. Mission accomplished, but now she couldn't just leave Grunkle Stan alone with strangers. Not when he was drunk. Oh, they were going to have to come up with an excuse for Greg. 

She'd worry about it later, instead turning back to Mr. Fell with a smile that was a little more apologetic. "Sorry. Most of the men in my family are... Ooh. Brusque? That sounds like the right word."

“No need to apologize, dear girl. Your great-uncles are quite the entertainers.” He appeared hardly ruffled by either of the Pines men. “I can assure you, I’m used to… ah, yes, I suppose brusque is a good word for it.” He glanced at the rockstar slouching languidly in one of the kitchen chairs with something of a considering look. “My dear, you’re starting to slither.”

"No, m'fine." He was just very, very drunk. Stanley had been a problem since they'd walked in, unusually suspicious of them from the get-go and warning them not to swindle a swindler. More unusual than that, it had been difficult for Crowley to tempt him. Con artist with a bloody conscience and a protective streak a mile wide when it came to his great-nephew apparently. If Crowley wasn't drunk, he'd be exceptionally annoyed. He gestured his glass as messily as Stanley, but not a drop fell over the edge. "Who's thisss, then?" 

"Niece," Stanley slurred. "Mabel. Mabel, I'm not drunk."

She swallowed a giggle. "I know, Grunkle Stan. Business meeting, obviously."

"Mm," he grunted.

"Are you guys friends with Grunkle Ford?" she wondered, not sure if Mr. Fell would rise to the bait. "He travels a lot now that he's not-" Lost in dimensions. "Um, researching for his books." It was only a little bit of a lie, so she only felt a little bad. They'd obviously had plenty of time to hurt her grunkles and they hadn't, so how bad could they be? 

Mr. Fell fidgeted, fingers toying with the ring on his pinky. “Well, ah. No, we've only just met him.” Though something gave him cause to frown pensively. “I'm sorry, 'grunkle?' What is that? Some kind of casserole?” 

"Maybe, but we use it as a much shorter version of great-uncle. It might also have _maybe_ started as grumpy uncle but Grunkle Stan isn't bad once you get to know him." 

“I see. Very creative.” He still looked a little befuddled, but politely befuddled at any rate. “My associate, Mr. Crowley there, and I were simply curious about this establishment and wondered at the odd energies at work here. Though it seems we may have gotten a bit distracted from the actual mysteries of this mystery house.”

"My brother likes to say the mysteries in here are what people can handle and the mysteries outside are best left to professionals. Or him." There was amused pride in it. "But... energies? Like the kind a witch or two might pick up?" 

“A witch? Well, I suppose if one were proficient in sensing auras and had the proper training, then certain energies could be detected by some. I came across one such young witch last year, very nice girl, impressive lineage. I wonder if she's still in Tadfield… She's American as well, you see,” he prattled on with a smile, then picked up on what she was actually implying. “Ah, wait… you mean the two of us. Oh no. No, we're not witches, though I do collect my fair share of books of prophecy.”

She believed him. They were _something_ , but it wasn't witches. She didn't know why she believed him, though, which wasn't going to be enough for Dipper. "Oh, yeah? Are you, like, a librarian or something?" 

“I own a bookshop in Soho. Ah, in London,” he clarified, puffing up with a bit of pride, as if he was talking about his child rather than a storefront. “I specialize in rare and antiquarian books. Now, er… about what you said earlier, about your brother. He considers himself a professional when it comes to mysteries? The occult, perhaps?”

"Mmhm. The paranormal." Except now she was torn. A bookshop owner, not a teacher. Not a witch. He was something. Dipper would have ideas. Her only one was to tell the truth. He'd either stick around and they'd get answers _or_ they'd just leave town and all was well. 

The front door slammed, Grunkle Ford calling for Dipper as he went upstairs. The barrier was up again at least so she rocked back on her heels. But he wasn't coming back so she had no one to give her a better idea, so truth it was. "I think owning a bookshop suits you _way_ more than being some snooty teacher does. And it totally makes sense why you'd have a first edition of _War and Peace_. There's no way teachers read all the books they say they have."

Mr. Fell went still. Almost too still, like actual stone. It didn’t even look like he was breathing or if blood actually pumped through his veins, like every cell that comprised him stopped. It passed quickly, a fleeting second, and his smile returned, though with some degree of nervousness.

“Well, I- that is to say- I do teach, on the side, as well. I’m an ang- a man of many hobbies. Yes. Always keeping busy, me. And reading. Always reading… wait- wait just a moment. How do you know about my first edition?” The nerves abated, aghast instead at the implication. “Were you _snooping_?”

There was a pause. "Well... It's Pacifica's house. She's our friend and we were worried."

“I see.” He tugged sharply at the hem of his worn waistcoat, brow furrowed as he looked her over to gauge her honesty. He softened at whatever he seemed to find, but only a little. “I suppose those are… honorable intentions, but going through other people’s things… Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have left it. Crowley, I told you I should’ve brought my books. People are _looking_ at them.” 

"S' _fine_ , angel. They look all the time at your..." Self-preservation closed his mouth as he actually looked up. His gaze shifted to Mabel and she hesitantly stepped a little closer to Mr. Fell. "What did you _do_ , Aziraphale?" 

“ _Me_?” He looked as though his feathers had been ruffled. “I’m only making polite conversation with Miss Mabel here and trying to find out more information, which is more than I can say for you.” He gestured to the empty bottles on the table.

" I- S'plenty of information." Crowley made a few noises of protest while Mabel started to back out. They wouldn't hurt Grunkle Stan, but she needed to get Dipper in the loop. "Demon barrier," Crowley continued, waving a hand in a circle. "S'hisss brother. The Hell'd he go?" 

“Did you not hear the door slam? Honestly, Crowley,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Mr. Stanford is checking on his _nephew_.”

"Demon- demon barrier man s'checkin' on demon nephew. The Cipher kid." Even drunk, Crowley knew they were potentially in some trouble. At least _he_ was. 

Especially when Mabel sucked in a sharp breath. "You know about Bill." She looked between them quickly and bolted. " _Dipper_!" 

Crowley rubbed his temples. "Should sober up."

“Yes, please do,” he huffed. “Apparently there’s someone else to be concerned about. Some _Bill_ character.”

Crowley shook his head, a little fuzzy now that the alcohol had left his body and refilled the bottles. Well. Some of the bottles. He took a moment to be impressed by Stanley's tolerance before he stood and looked at Aziraphale. "Fine. Whatever. We'll figure it out, but we should probably get the Hell out of here before they put the barrier back up."

“Good idea.” And he could get back to check on his books, and also consider their next course of action. This stint didn’t go particularly as planned. “Good day, sir,” he bid Stanley farewell, even if the man could only squint at him in response, then fled the kitchen a few steps ahead of Crowley.

They were in the clear. The family was nowhere to be found. Aziraphale opened the front door and beckoned for Crowley to follow onto the porch. As smooth a getaway as they could hope for at this point. It wasn’t until he was down the rickety steps that he realized his demon was not beside him.

He turned abruptly to find him still on the porch, unable to go any farther. “We’re too late, aren’t we?”

"No, I'm standing here admiring the view," Crowley snapped. 

Aziraphale hurried back to him. “Do you think you can find somewhere to hide while I break the barrier again?”

"Probably. The building doesn't exactly..." He waved a hand, unable to explain it. Something about it just wasn't quite fixed in place, but he knew Aziraphale had recognized it too. What they'd gotten out of the Stan twins had been proof enough that they were completely ignorant to the inconsistencies. "You'll just have to-" 

"Hey!" 

"Bollocks," Crowley sighed, and turned. He recognized Dipper immediately. The hat was a dead giveaway, a reminder of orders he had to remind himself he didn't have to heed. 

_"Kill on sight," the man in the commercial had crooned, a pause while Crowley had flipped channels in search of something age-inappropriate for Warlock to watch. "Danger to demons everywhere. But not you, Crowley. Focus on the Antichrist."_

Danger to demons was right, at least, and still very applicable. There was no other reason to aim a _squirt bottle_ at someone as if it actually posed a threat. He took a step back, snug against the barrier. "Y'know, that's _really_ not necessary."

"If it's not, you should be able to leave just fine."

An electrifying crackle of energy swept across the porch and into the foyer, as harmless as the static that caused the latex of balloons to stick to one’s skin, but very present just the same. Aziraphale stepped fully in front of Crowley, iridescent eyes fixed on the squirt bottle. When he flicked his gaze from it to catch Dipper’s, he could feel a great pulse of the same love peppered throughout the small town. It was admirable, coming from a boy so young, but entirely misplaced in this case.

And entirely unacceptable. “Now, I don’t know how you got your hands on holy water that powerful, young man, but I would appreciate it if you did not threaten my friend with it.” 

His fingers weren't even on the trigger, but they flexed. Bill had made it out before the barrier had closed. He _knew_ it. He'd felt his headache evaporate just before he'd seen the telltale glimmer from their hiding spot on the roof. So he was gone, but who was _this_? "Your..."

Mabel hopped down the stairs to meet him, knocking their shoulders together in a _lighten up_. 

He shot her a look, quick and unhappy enough for _you're crazy_. 

She elbowed him. _Am not._

He elbowed back. _Are too_. 

"Stop it."

"You started it!" 

She stuck her tongue out and pushed his hand. "I told you Mr. Fell's nice. If they're friends, it's fine."

"He's a demon. Obviously. And they know Bill."

"We don't know if they're _friends_ with Bill."

"I'm trying to figure that out, Mabel!" 

"Just ask then."

They stared at one another for a beat, him scowling and her smiling brightly, and he gave up first. The water bottle lowered and he rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. How do you know Bill Cipher?" 

A look of understanding briefly crossed Aziraphale’s face. “Ah. Do all demons pick first names the way you do, dearest?”

"Some of us, probably. Ligur didn't." He thought for a moment. "Or Beelzebub. Dagon... I think Hastur picked a surname, but he’s an idiot."

“Hm.” Aziraphale nodded, accepting that answer easily enough before returning his full attention to the children who still held onto a very deadly substance. Deadly to a demon, in any case. “In response to your question, that is precisely what we want to know from you as well. I believe you’re more acquainted with him than either of us are.” 

Two more figures appeared on the stairs behind the twins, one far more eager than the other, but equally curious. Aziraphale swept his gaze over them to ensure they were unarmed. Wirt kept one hand on Greg’s shoulder, holding him close, the other hovered hesitantly in the space between him and Dipper. The younger brother held their frog in both hands. Nothing as threatening as a squirt bottle.

A small crease still formed between Aziraphale’s eyebrows. “How many children are your great-uncles keeping?”

"Just us four. Wirt and Greg are visiting," Mabel explained. 

Dipper huffed. "Yeah, okay, tell them everything about us."

She stuck her tongue out at him again. 

“Is this the really weird rich rude old magic guys that like books and nice cars and dress funny?” Greg whispered loudly to her. Loud enough for said really weird rich rude old magic guys that like books and nice cars and dress funny to hear him.

“ _Rude_?” Aziraphale looked crestfallen.

Crowley looked offended. "Dress _funny_?" 

Mabel crouched down and swept Greg onto her shoulders. "Sort of, but I don't think they're rude. And I like Mr. Fell's bowtie. It's not too much tartan. What do you think, Wirt? You agree with me."

Dipper rubbed his brow, the bill of his cap budging up. "What is happening?" he muttered. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps, placing the holy water in another room, then we might all sit down and have a chat about what exactly is happening,” Aziraphale suggested, still standing between Dipper and the demon. “Please.”

Dipper glanced further up the stairs, considering. "Mabel, are you sure?" 

"Super duper sure."

He still hesitated another minute before sighing. "The attic, then. I'll tell Grunkle Ford he doesn't have to find the rest of the holy water."

It didn’t really come as a surprise, but the mere suggestion of more holy water on the premises had Aziraphale reaching back to lay a reassuring hand against Crowley’s hip. “And I don’t suppose we could trouble you for some tea? We all might do with something to steady our nerves a bit.”

Wirt pursed his lips as his gaze darted between them and his boyfriend, sticking to the latter as he tried to gauge how he felt about the request. “I… um… I could make some? And some cocoa?”

“Oh, cocoa would be _lovely_.”

Dipper nodded and turned, reaching out and squeezing Wirt's hand. "Go ahead. Greg and Mabel can take them up, and I’ll be down in a minute to help you."

While the teens and child planned their next course of action, Aziraphale decided to trust them enough to look at Crowley. “All right, my dear?” he asked softly.

"As alright as can be knowing this place is a holy water haven," he muttered, not happy at being trapped. But he still gave Aziraphale a small nod and decided to be amused. "The girl one likes you, angel."

“Yes, well, I’m rather fond of her as well.” He glanced back at them, lips quirking up as they appeared to be having their own little check-in. “I’m sure they’ll warm up to you soon. You may be brusque at first, but you are still rather lovely.”

"Shut up," he sighed, but followed him up the stairs when the girl one beckoned them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of big life changes happening for us at the moment, so we're sorry if this affects our ability to update! It is still Tuesday on the west coast, so we met our extension sort of? We post notices on changes to the update schedule on Tumblr, so if you're interested in following along, you can find us at [skimmingmilk](https://skimmingmilk.tumblr.com/) and [syl-writes-stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> In any case, hope this chapter is worth the wait!


	7. Chapter 7

Dipper shifted his weight foot to foot, taking Wirt's wrist instead of the offered cup. He'd trusted Mabel upstairs with the demon and the whatever-the-guy-was long enough to come down and give his boyfriend some preparation for what the topic upstairs would be. Or maybe to convince him to wait downstairs. Whatever worked. 

"Listen... Um... So these guys..."

Wirt watched him struggle for a second, then glanced down at the way Dipper’s fingers curled against his skin, the small stretch visible between the cuff of his sweater sleeve and the heel of his hand. His pulse was jumping, his boyfriend likely able to feel it with ease.

“They… they can’t leave, can they?” he guessed, busy mind full of what-ifs spinning. “Because your great-uncle fixed the barrier.”

"One of them can't." Dipper took the mug from him so he could take his hand instead. "The other one's still kind of a mystery."

“Does that mean-?” Wirt’s breath hitched, but he tried to steady it with a squeeze to Dipper’s hand. “Does it only keep out… demons?”

"I... Yeah."

“So- so one of them’s a demon.”

Dipper shrugged, smile slight and apologetic. "One of them."

That did very little to reassure him, but he figured that wasn’t the point. What could possibly be reassuring about having a demon trapped in the house with them? It was supposed to keep out demons, or one demon specifically, but still.

Wirt exhaled slowly, then drew back so he could busy himself with finishing the rest of the drinks, everyone except for himself and the apparent demon opting for cocoa instead of tea. Which, he realized with ridiculous timing, that he hadn’t asked him how he took it. Why did it matter how a _demon_ took his tea?

Wirt shook his head and let it steep a little bit longer, strong seemed to be a good start. “How did they even get in here in the first place? You know, break down the barrier?”

"The not-demon one would've had to break it. Remove some moonstone or mercury? I don't know exactly what they did, but..." Dipper bit his lip. This he wanted to say before he inevitably had to say it upstairs."But I knew it was down when we got here because the migraine didn't go away."

Wirt looked up from the mugs. He had wanted to ask about that. Why he and Greg had been grabbed in a panic and sequestered with Dipper on the roof. All that he’d gotten out of him at the time was that the barrier was down and that was enough to keep them all distracted, never mind the why behind it all.

“Your migraine… was because of the barrier?” Wirt asked carefully, brain frantically trying to piece everything together. “How…?”

"I- Not really. It's- Listen, just, like, don't be mad at me. I'm telling you first, so don't be mad. Too mad."

“I’m not mad, I don’t think. I’m just… confused, I guess. What’s happening? Why do you think I’d be mad at you?”

Dipper bit his lip again, really not wanting to give him a reason to worry. The summer had been just fine so far. "Since we went fishing... He's- Bill's kinda been... bothering me. More than he's supposed to be able to. He was the migraine."

Wirt paled, the worry lines around his eyes standing out as they widened. “What?” It came out more like a gasp than a proper question. “How… _Bill_? But Dipper-” Surely he would’ve felt something? After the nightmare of last fall, how could he just slip in undetected and start messing with them?

Except Bill had been in their house for months before anything strange started happening, before the imaginary friend and the temperature shift and the nightmares. He could be practically invisible if he wanted to be, but they were supposed to be protected… Wirt reached out for him, his fingers now the ones holding tight to Dipper’s forearm to ground himself with touch - to ground them both.

“Has he done anything else to you?” he asked, searching his face for anything he might not say.

"No. I promise, no. I've felt him poking at me, but that's it. It's just insistent and I've been able to ignore it, but when we left today it just hit really hard and he didn't let up. It's like he expected something? I-" He stopped and tipped his head up to gaze at the ceiling, towards the attic. "I mean, they know about Bill. And if they're not bad like Mabel thinks... Maybe they’re going to be a problem for him and he got desperate." Shaking his head, he focused on Wirt again. "It'll be okay, okay?" 

Wirt tried not to look as panicked as he felt, so filled to the brim with worry that he was close to spilling over and into Dipper. That wasn’t what he needed from him. Dipper didn’t need him to be one more thing to have to keep in the back of his mind on a mental checklist. He needed a shield, a partner. Someone to stand at his side, not cower behind him. But that was easier said than done, like most things. 

It didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try.

Wirt swallowed down enough of the fear bit by bit, the sensation not unlike how he imagined it would feel to have a handful of steel ball bearings sitting in his stomach. “But I thought you were protected...” 

"I know. I am. He's not... I don't know. I haven't had a chance to actually figure out what's going on? But I will and then I'll make sure he stays out." Dipper let go of his hand to wrap around his waist and press close, stealing a kiss. "We'll figure it out. They want to know what we know about Bill and if one of them's a demon, he'll have more knowledge on how to stop him. Okay?" 

“If they _want_ to stop him…” Wirt couldn’t help murmuring, but leaned into Dipper all the same, carefully nudging their brows together. “But I trust Mabel and- and I trust _you_. I just want you safe.”

"I will be. I've got my pilgrim, don't I?" 

Wirt’s throat tightened, but he nodded firmly just the same. They couldn’t stretch this out much more, the tea was likely strong enough and the cocoa starting to cool, so he let their lips brush together one more time before slipping out of his hold. They would have time to be together later, after they had answers and reasons and more than whatever they were grasping at now.

“Help me with the drinks?” he asked, setting at least four of the mugs on a tray.

"Yeah. You'd probably spill them if you went on your own," he teased. 

Wirt gently knocked his ankle against Dipper’s in retaliation. “I’ll drink your cocoa and leave you the tea.”

"No, you won't. You like me."

“I’m also a stubborn jerk. So I’ve been told. Just ask Beatrice.” Wirt picked up his tray, five mugs squeezed on so Dipper would only have to carry two. The two teacups, as it were. He grinned at him. “After you.”

The first thing Dipper noticed when they walked into his room was new furniture. A loveseat nestled where there shouldn't have been any room. Mabel was sitting at his desk, happily asking them about London. It was in her list of places to visit, so it didn't surprise Dipper. What did surprise him was how _normal_ it seemed. Never mind at all that one of them was trapped. Just talking casually about London like they'd do this every day. 

Dipper set Wirt’s tea on his bedside bureau but gave the demon his. He just smiled a little, brow arched over his dark sunglasses. "Not very trusting, are you?" 

"Not really," he admitted, not sure at all what to think of him. 

Aziraphale, who’d been about to blow delicately over his cup of cocoa topped with darling little marshmallows, glanced over at the two of them, then reached over to brush his fingers against the side of Crowley’s cup. Aside from that, nothing happened. He pulled back after a moment, apparently satisfied, then returned to sighing contentedly about his beverage.

“Wonderful. Just what we all need. Thank you, young man.” He smiled at Wirt while the rest of the cups were delivered, and the teen returned it a little shakily.

“You’re- um… you’re welcome.” Wirt set the emptied tray down, handing the last mug to Dipper while his gaze darted from one stranger to another. “And um- I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you liked milk or sugar in your tea, but I can go down and get some if you want it-”

“Oh, no need for that, I’ll take care of it.” Aziraphale snapped and the tea decided to be exactly how Crowley would like.

Wirt blinked, unsure how snapping ‘took care of it.’ “Um…”

Understanding, Crowley tipped his cup so Wirt could see the dark surface had lightened. "I could've done that, angel. Not leaving doesn't mean no miracles." He very lightly touched their knees together in thanks anyway as he took a sip. 

“Best not to take any chances. We don’t yet know all the ins and outs of the protections the children have taken against demons.” Aziraphale cradled his cup close and drank deeply, the picture of absolute bliss.

Wirt sat down on the edge of the bed beside Dipper, looking to Mabel and Greg to see what impression they had so far, but still felt just as lost. So magic. Right. Now he understood just what Pacifica meant.

Dipper slid a comforting arm around his waist. "We have the barrier and... stuff specific to Bill. Why did the holy water bug you that much? It barely does anything to Bill."

Crowley swirled his tea, frowning at him. "Hard to spritz something that's discorporated."

Seeing as they’d already shown their hand to these children when they panicked in the foyer - they couldn’t play off that holy water _wasn’t_ a threat to Crowley now - Aziraphale cleared his throat and explained, “When a demon is inhabiting a corporation - a physical body, that is - if they come into contact with holy water on Earth, then it completely destroys their entire essence. The body and the demon themselves. It’s really the only way to- well… _kill_ a demon, I suppose. They don’t go back to Hell, they just… cease to exist. But without a body, they’re intangible. Not quite here. Not completely.”

"Right, he's on another plane of existence. We know that. Mabel, toss me journal two. They're on my desk."

"Can do, bro-bro." She spun in his chair and tossed it over when he set his mug down.

He grabbed a much newer looking book and a pen, flipping them open. "So- Wait, back to Hell?" 

Crowley's lips twitched. "We're not welcome back into Heaven, are we?" 

"What."

“My dear boy, where do you think demons come from?” Aziraphale arched an eyebrow, sipping at his cocoa.

Dipper tapped his pen against a blank page, exchanging looks with his twin and with Wirt. "Bill always said he just... came from a different dimension."

"Pssh. Idiot got himself discorporated doing that illegally. _Dimensions_. If one of you humans popped him out of one, that's your doing. But he's a regular demon, same as me."

“For the record, I’d say you’re in an entirely different league,” Aziraphale chimed in, sitting primly. “Not at all the same.”

“Yeah, you seem way cooler than Bill does,” Greg added from where he sat criss-cross applesauce on the floor near Mabel, frog in his lap. “You wear sunglasses!”

It was nice to have at least one human not looking at him with any measure of suspicion, even if it was the smallest of them. And the girl one. Of course the possessed one and his boyfriend were tense. Really, he was fine with both reactions as long as they kept the holy water away from him. "I'm leagues away from that bugger."

Mabel smiled. "Your car's really neat."

"I know."

"Okay, so Bill." Dipper would babble about the existence of Heaven and Hell later. He wanted to know what they did about him. "If he was possessing, uh, me and holy water hit us, what would happen?" 

"Dunno," Crowley admitted cheerfully. "Demons don't really _need_ to possess humans. We'll do it for a lark or under orders but when the holy water comes out, we leave the body behind with a broken mind. Can't imagine it'd feel nice though. Can imagine you’d die."

"Okay." There went that idea. He wasn't going to try on a "dunno."

Wirt was glad they seemed to be on the same page there. “What about something without a mind? Can… can demons possess things as well as people?”

"Mm... We more infect objects with pieces, never the whole. Try to force yourself into a tree and the whole thing explodes. Easy way to start a forest fire, though." He looked at Aziraphale. "Not that I ever have."

He absolutely gave him a look that said he didn’t believe him. “Of course you haven’t,” he hummed, taking another sip, then his eyes lit up with an idea and his free hand immediately pressed into Crowley’s chest as if to stop him from getting up. “Oh- oh, my dear, what about that time you told me about the telephone mailbox and that Hastur fellow?”

"Telephone-? Voicemail, Aziraphale." Crowley shook his head, but his tone held the slightest bit of fondness. "And that was different. I took the body. We went between electric molecules. Didn't really possess the phone system."

“Ah, I see. Right, so even if you could pop the tape out of the voicemail box and drop it in, say, a bucket of holy water, his body would still technically be present.” He gave a polite approximation of a shrug and pulled his hand back.

Greg tilted his head as observed Aziraphale for a minute. “Can’t you do that, too?”

“Do what, dear boy?”

“Go between electrons and stuff.”

Aziraphale tapped his fingers against his mug while he thought. “Goodness. I haven’t tried, but I’d think it wouldn’t be impossible. I haven’t really had the need to alter my corporation so drastically as to do something as that.”

"You could. It's not a skill I discovered after the Fall."

Dipper frowned, still considering the tape idea. He was very used to entertaining the insane, and it seemed to have promise. Why couldn't a trapped demon be dropped into a bucket of holy water? Water would destroy the tape and there they'd go, right? But Greg's question caught him off guard. 

He looked at Aziraphale. "Wait, but you're not a demon. You went past the barrier."

Once again he looked as though his feathers had been ruffled - if people had feathers to ruffle - and gasped. “Of _course_ I’m not a _demon_.” He shook his head with an affronted huff and pointedly sipped at his cocoa. He thought better of it as the rich chocolate flavor mingled with the fluff of melted marshmallows, the harmony of flavors clearing his head enough to tame the knee-jerk reaction. “Similar stock, yes,” he amended gently, casting Crowley an apologetic glance, “but definitely not a demon.”

“Yeah, he’s an angel,” Greg piped up, raising an eyebrow at Dipper. “Didn’t you know?”

Dipper looked at Greg. So did Mabel. "Greg," she started, "how did you know that?" Because they weren't denying it. 

Greg gave them a look far too long-suffering for an eight-year-old and pointed at Crowley. “He literally called him ‘angel.’ Right in front of us. And he checked the tea to make sure you guys didn’t make it with holy water, huh?”

There was a beat. "I thought it was a pet name," Dipper admitted. 

Crowley shrugged, not bothering to point out things often having dual purposes. Aziraphale probably knew how it was meant anyway. Yeah, probably.

Laughing, Mabel spun in the desk chair. "I _called_ it! Told you, Dipper!" 

"You didn't call the angel thing, shut up!" And oh, god, there were angels. Angels _and_ demons and a Heaven and a Hell and Dipper was going to need time to process all of this. 

"I knew he was good. So point for me." She wiped a finger in the air as if checking an imaginary scoreboard and Dipper threw a pillow at her. 

Greg caught the pillow when it bounced off Mabel, setting it next to him so Jason Funderburker could sit on it instead. He pursed his lips while he looked at Wirt. “You know, I should be the one that gets the point. I figured it out first.”

“Yeah, you did, Greg. Don’t worry, you get a point in my book,” he assured him, smile soft. It was comforting to think that with all the chaos demons could bring to their lives that there was still a balance. There was even a way for an angel and a demon to be… whatever it was the two of these guys were. “So the two of you work together…?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story. You see, I am the principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and he-”

“Eastern gate of what?” Greg interrupted.

“Oh, er,” Aziraphale faltered for a moment. “Of the Garden of Eden, of course. And Crowley here, he was a wily old serpent and-” He caught said demon’s stare and the very, _very_ subtle shake of his head. “And, ah… well, the rest is history, so they say.”

"Six thousand years of it, roughly."

Dipper almost closed his journal and walked outside to let Bill take him over. It was _almost_ preferable to every bomb dropping in his brain. Garden of Eden and if this demon had been a serpent, then... Well, he knew the story of Adam and Eve as well as most other humans. Six _thousand_ years. 

Wait, _only_ six thousand years? It was another bomb, his science-oriented brain struggling. He'd liked it better when they were just witches. "So _basically_ you were guarding Eden and he wrecked it-" 

"I didn't _wreck_ it. Tch. God's the one who wrecked it. All I did was stir up a little trouble. Humanity wouldn't be where it is right now without me and Aziraphale."

"Whatever. The _point_ is..." He rubbed his temples, staring at his journal. "The summary is that happened, history happened, and now you guys are sitting in Grunkle Stan's attic, working together. I mean, definitely together."

"Definitely," Mabel sighed, forever a romantic, and Crowley had to order the tea not to choke him. Aziraphale had a similar issue, face flushed at the sudden swell of love-like thoughts that filled the room, staying quiet as he sipped at his drink. 

"But _why_ are you here specifically? Nobody showed up when Bill tried to end the world a few years ago. He's just... bugging us now, so what's the big deal?" 

“Well, _one_ of us didn’t tell the other that someone _else_ was trying to start the Apocalypse,” Aziraphale tutted, but he laid his hand on Crowley’s knee to soothe any lingering tenderness his words might’ve had, though his eyes did flicker between the twins. “Otherwise we might have taken an interest in assisting. Aside from being quite busy thwarting the _actual_ Apocalypse.”

"It felt pretty actual. Being here," Mabel murmured, then shot a sharp look her brother's way. "Don't start feeling guilty."

"I'm not," he lied, shifting closer to Wirt. "What actual Apocalypse?" 

To prevent Aziraphale from going on a rambling explanation, Crowley cut it down. "Last year, the Antichrist came of age. The four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse rode, the Earth's human population was almost destroyed by nuclear fallout, and then it would've been completely decimated by the final war between Heaven and Hell. We didn't like the sound of it, so Aziraphale and I were busy preparing to end it. We both had orders to stay 'round the Antichrist, so couldn't exactly go popping over here." He wasn't going to admit that they'd been with the wrong kid. Ever. 

That, Dipper could latch onto. Finally. "Last August."

“Yes.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “Gosh, was it really only last August? Time gets a bit muddled when you’ve been on Earth as long as we have. Though we did keep a good track of it for those eleven years. Living so closely with humans does help.”

Wirt wrapped an arm around Dipper’s waist, keeping close as his brow furrowed. “What… what do you mean last August?”

Dipper shrugged, fidgeting with the pages of his journal and chewing on the end of his pen. It, like so many others, broke in his mouth but when he took it out, the end was unchewed and there was no ink on his tongue. He glanced up, willing to place bets that the angel had done it, but... somehow not fully ruling out the demon either. 

"I... I don't know."

"You _do_ ," Crowley insisted, leaning forward a little. He did remind Dipper of a snake, but it was hard to say exactly why. "But _how_?" 

It had happened. They'd confirmed it already, but he could already see Mabel's quiet disbelief and wasn't sure what to say. Everything had been chalked up to a mass hallucination that people either entirely forgot or had only vague memories of. Dipper had a full three pages of very detailed notes in an older journal. 

He swallowed. "It- Right before we went to Paris, when we were in Piedmont, I just- Look, I follow international news. Europe's a hotbed for paranormal activity and so's Asia and- I remember watching BBC news on my laptop and hearing about the M25 on fire and the Kraken was crushing whaling ships and some cruise ship stumbled across Atlantis.

"And I remember the sirens going off. Nuclear warning sirens and dad's ushering us into an underground bunker in our backyard." And he'd been terrified to actually go look for it because if it really existed... Holy crap, it probably really existed. "But then I woke up Sunday, and it's all gone. All the texts Wirt and I sent back and forth, all the messages I'd sent to the grunkles and my friends here were gone, pictures and screenshots I'd saved were deleted, and my journal pages were empty like I'd never written in them when I _did_. I loaded them up. And nobody remembered any of it around me. Or if they did, those memories faded really fast. 

"I _know_ it all happened, though." He looked at Crowley, tapping his pen against his page. "Bill's how. When you've had a dream demon clinging to your brain, you _have_ to know the difference between fake and real memories or you'll go crazy. He- He twists things up."

"He's a demon. That's his job." Crowley looked at Aziraphale, tipping his tea in Dipper's direction. "I know why Cipher wants this one."

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Aziraphale nodded, his eyes soft and full of sympathy as he turned his gaze upon the boy - still very much a child, even at nearly seventeen years old. “I’m sorry, dear boy. When the Apocalypse was averted the Antichrist- well, ex-Antichrist, now I should say… anyway, he tried to set everything back to rights. Save all the lives that were lost. And humans… most of the time can be persuaded to believe certain things like mass hallucinations. A coping mechanism, too, I think, in addition to the Antichrist’s reality bending abilities. But for those that _do_ remember… I’m sorry you had to endure it alone. People aren’t meant to be isolated. They thrive together, in shared experiences.”

Dipper waved a hand. "No, I get that. Our neighbor died, and-" 

"What?!" Mabel yelped. 

" _And_ I wouldn't trade everybody's life for that. I'm used to isolation. It's not knowing if what I remembered was real or if it was somehow a Bill plant that messed with me. Like he shouldn't be able to get in."

Wirt stared at him, fingers gripping the fabric of his t-shirt. “Dipper… so that’s- your texts were- oh my gosh.” He knew what it was like to lose the ability to know what was real and what wasn’t, had nightmares about it still, and one saving grace was that Dipper understood. They had each other to fall back on, and their siblings. But this had been before Wirt knew what that was like. Before he even knew about Bill. “That’s terrifying. That’s just-” 

He wanted to hug him, to hold him and let him have something real, even if it was nearly a year ago that this had happened. But even if the angel and demon in the room had a common enemy with them, they were still strangers. It didn’t seem the time. Or at least he didn’t quite have the nerve, not like this. He did give him his hand, interlaced their fingers and pressed the lines of their palms flush together.

“You- you said Bill still wants him?” Wirt looked at Crowley. “If- say if he had some kind of protection on him, specifically against Bill, could he do anything about it? Can demons work around things like that?”

"Just say he has Cipher's real name tattooed on him. It's much easier." Crowley lifted a hand, snapping his empty teacup full again. Forcing sobriety always made him thirsty. He usually got rid of the sensation, but tea was available. "And no. You can't work around them unless... Well, tattoos get damaged and he could've left a piece behind."

“Left a… left a piece behind?” Wirt stammered out, blinking as he watched Aziraphale tap Crowley’s shoulder and look at him over the rim of his own mug, eyes especially blue as he wordlessly lifted it up a little higher. 

“Like what, an arm?” Greg frowned while the angel stopped just shy of clearing his throat. “How would he do that?”

"Don't look at me like that, angel," he muttered, and fresh cocoa filled the mug. He even added extra marshmallows. "And, no, not a bloody arm. Have you seen him without an arm? Demons are broken. Happened in the Fall. As a result, it doesn't take much effort to crack off a bit of soul. It was probably a feather if he's got any semblance of sense."

“But it’s _Bill_.” Greg wrinkled his nose. “He doesn’t have any sense. No sense at all.”

Crowley's lips twitched. "Noticed that, did you?"

“Yeah. He was in my head, too. And Wirt’s. But that was after August.”

“Oh dear. Those must’ve been the other possessions the paper was referring to.” Aziraphale sipped at his fresh cup of cocoa thoughtfully. “I take it you all have the proper protection against him now? Aside from this barrier?”

"Yup!" Mabel assured him. "I did them."

“Tip-top.”

Wirt turned to Dipper, squeezing his hand nervously. “What do you think?” he asked, keeping his voice soft. The migraines, the messing with him, could that be because something was left behind?

"If he left something behind, why am I only feeling it now?" he whispered in return. "If something did happen to the tattoo, I don't remember, but I'll check. If something happened, I'll have to ask Grunkle Ford to give me a new one."

“Okay… sounds like a good start.” Wirt managed a small smile for him and lifted their hands to quickly brush a kiss to the back of Dipper’s.

He smiled. Wirt was so cute. "Yeah, y'know, I'm usually pretty good at making plans. I mean, I've apparently survived two Apocalypses."

Crowley stopped letting them think he wasn't listening. "For your sake, you'd better hope third time isn't the charm."

Dipper looked over, frown returning. "Third time? I..." It clicked, but Dipper wished it hadn't. "That's why you're here."

"He _really_ wants you. So, yeah, you're looking at a third go."

“And given that the last Apocalypse was thwarted,” Aziraphale started, brow furrowing. “Hell isn’t too thrilled that they lost an opportunity for war. Heaven isn’t either, mind you, but this Cipher character might find that he has more… interested parties this time around. From his side.” He pointed to the floor, and did not mean either of the great-uncles somewhere else in the house.

"Just say from demons, angel. He was cast out, remember?" 

"Wait, so other demons might show up?" Dipper asked. 

Mabel bounced in place, her main sign of worry. "Maybe we should put more barriers up around town. Some of the houses."

"Candy and Grenda," her twin immediately replied. "We'll get Pacifica to stay somewhere else with these two staying there."

"Um. Good _luck_."

"She can stay here."

"Good _luck_ ," Mabel repeated. 

"Shut up, I'm trying to think. Soos, obviously. Wendy's family." Did they even have enough supplies? He'd have to make a list and find out. 

“I think we’re gonna need a lot more unicorns,” Greg mused, thinking the same thing as he started his own list with a marker on one of Dipper’s whiteboards.

“It’ll be okay, Dipper.” Wirt rubbed his back. “We’ll get a plan together. We’ll- we’ll figure something out.”

“What if we just put one big barrier around the whole town?” Greg asked, making a giant circle with his arms over his trusty frog.

Wirt gestured to Crowley as an example. “If Bill’s already in town, then he’ll just get stuck in here with us like right now.”

“Yeah, but it’d at least keep any of the other demons that might come here from getting in, right?”

"Doesn't work like that anyway," Crowley mused, glancing towards the window. He was getting a little fidgety, trapped in place. "Unicorn hair has to be fixed to buildings. Or to the base of shelters. Tents."

Dipper looked up from his growing list of names. "So we just have to figure out how to get rid of Bill. What if we get him to possess someone who's already dead and then pour holy water on them?" 

"No demon's gonna slip on a corpse." Crowley's expression pinched. "It'd take constant miracles just to keep the damn thing together."

Aziraphale made a face to match. “Dreadfully unpleasant. As unfortunate as some of their corporations are with the boils and oozing… demons still have standards.” And his was reaching his limit, he could see. “If you could share with us whatever information you have from your past encounters with Cipher, then we could study it and potentially offer further insight in how to stop him. I’ll need a pen and paper, but I can write it down…” He patted his coat, as if he had either of those things tucked away on his person and wouldn’t just miracle them into being.

Crowley's hand made to lift, but Dipper sighed audibly and rose. "I've got them all written down. I just need a few minutes to find all the right journals and make copies."

“Oh, really? Thank you, young man, that would be most helpful.” The genuine gratitude that radiated off the angel almost made the four kids need sunglasses, too. “It truly is remarkable to see what lengths you would go to in order to protect your home and the people who live here. All of you.”

"Turn your radiance down, angel. Not everybody came prepared."

“My apologies, right.” His smile dimmed to a more earthly degree. “Get carried away sometimes.”

"I think it's sweet," Mabel decided. 

Dipper rolled his eyes, scouring his bookshelf. He knew what was in each one and it was more than a little frustrating to be taking so many books off the shelf. He'd have to make multiple trips. "I'm gonna get you Grunkle Ford's experiences with him too."

Wirt stood up to follow him. “I’ll help. I can make some copies while you get whatever your great-uncle has.”

“Or you could just take pictures of the pages with your phone,” Greg suggested.

Aziraphale frowned. “He could do what?”

"Phones have cameras now, angel. Have for a while."

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. How can a telephone also be a camera?”

Crowley fished his phone out of a jacket pocket, snapped a picture of Aziraphale's baffled pout, and showed him. "They're smaller these days. That's how."

“This is your demonic work, isn’t it?”

"What're you on about? You _like_ cameras."

“Yes, but not when I want to use a telephone,” Aziraphale pointed out, sounding completely reasonable in his own mind.

“Wirt likes to use a separate camera for pictures, too,” Greg giggled.

The boy in question glanced back at them. “I just like things that have a specific purpose to stick to that purpose. When it comes to, you know, technology and things like that.”

“He kept his old flip phone for forever. Up until mom made him get a new one.” Greg shook his head. “I’m embarrassed for him sometimes.”

Aziraphale frowned harder. “Why would he want to flip his phone? Then it would be upside down. Not very useful.”

Dipper loaded Wirt’s arms with books and kissed him over the top. "I'll never tease your technology failures again."

“Yeah, see? It could be a lot worse.” Wirt scrunched his nose at him. “Be happy I can video chat with you.”

"Don't remind me of those. Summer's too short." And they'd obviously be fine. He refused to believe otherwise. 

Mabel smiled after them as they carried books out, though the number concerned her. Hopefully Aziraphale and Crowley could help them stop Bill once and for all. "Do you not have a cellphone at all?" 

“I have two telephones in my bookshop. One at my desk and one in the backroom. I don’t believe I need any more than that, though Crowley is always trying to tempt me into one.” Aziraphale drained the rest of his cocoa, then miracled the mug - all the empty mugs in the room - clean and put away in the cabinet downstairs. “I might consider one in the next several decades. Maybe before the century is out.”

He hadn't tried as hard as of late. They were spending enough time together that it didn't seem quite as important. "You won't get a cellphone until they've moved on to the next thing." 

He rose and sauntered to the window, gazing towards the woods. It didn't even take effort to feel Cipher everywhere, which meant he'd have to _try_ if he checked the hat kid for any remnants of the demon's possession. It seemed a little... extra, though. Like he was hiding something else and Crowley wouldn't put it past him. He'd do the same thing. 

Aziraphale’s thoughts also turned to the bizarre demon they’d encountered, though he combined the two topics and deduced that it made sense for Miss Mabel to have Crowley’s mobile phone number. “Here you are, dear girl. Please contact us if you feel that you are in danger or see that he is up to no good. We’ll be poking about as well, but it never hurts to have more eyes and ears scouring the area.” 

He handed her a tiny, miracled slip of paper with the number scrawled on it in with angelic flourish, minus the two tiny devil horns over the first digit. Even though they were in another country and didn’t have an international phone plan, it didn’t matter. Crowley didn’t have a phone plan at all, the phone simply worked because he expected it to.

Mabel didn't know that, of course, so, "Oh, I can't call-" 

"It'll work," Crowley interrupted. "Give the number to your brother and the scared one too."

"Okay." Deciding it was easier to believe than ask questions, she plugged it into her phone. "It's spelled like that Ozzy Osborne song, isn't it? Your name?" 

Crowley laughed, surprising her but making her smile. It wasn't a laugh like Bill's. It was just... a normal guy laugh. "Yes."

“Your name is in a song, my dear?” Aziraphale also couldn't help his smile. There was a unique pleasure to be found in Crowley's joy, a feeling the angel found infectious in all forms. “I hope it didn't come at the cost of one of your temptations.” He also hoped it wasn't bebop, if it was inspired by the demon, he would like to listen to it. 

"Nah. It didn't take all that." If it had, his name would've been pronounced correctly and it'd be known that it was about a demon and not some false prophet. "Some drinks and a bit of fun with blokes trying very hard to be dark." Crowley finally saw what had drawn him to the window in the first place, smile wicked and a little smug. "C'mere, angel."

Suspicious, Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back and approached him with an arched eyebrow. “I'm afraid to find out what has you so pleased with yourself.”

"No, you're not. Look." He let Aziraphale stand in front of him so he could see. " _Really_ look." 

It was the middle of the day, but a golden glow could be seen flickering in the dark woods. A tree fell, which was a little worrying since a discorporated anything shouldn't be able to, but he'd think about it later. For now, he was more smug because the gold glow was tinted an angry red. 

"For my money," he purred, not wanting the humans to hear, "he knows we're in here, chatting up his desired host, and he's _pissed_."

“Well.” Aziraphale tipped his chin up, now the one that was a little more than pleased himself as he observed the display of frustrated demonic energy. Even if he couldn’t sense it like Crowley, he knew it when he could see it, especially when it was so chaotic and uncontrollable. “He should have thought of that before underestimating us. As if we’re just going to let him do as he likes.”

It immediately shifted Crowley's amusement. So holier-than-thou. "Careful, angel. These kids are about ready to mark you down as their hero. Don't wanna go 'round showing off that bastard side just yet."

“Of course not. Right now that’s reserved for your eyes only, darling.” Since he was facing away from him - the demon hovering just behind him so if he leaned back just a touch he’d likely graze his chest and find that hellfire warmth radiating from him like a cup of tea on an autumn day or a blanket in the bookshop - Aziraphale let his smile betray his amusement and the flutters of delight only Crowley could inspire.

Mabel didn't know what they were talking about, but it didn't matter. She just thought they were cute, like an old married couple. She crouched down beside Greg, ruffling his hair. "So how are you doing, baby? What's going on with you and Jason Funderburker?" 

Greg shrugged, pulling his frog back into his arms. “Why does Bill want to end the world again? There’s so much cool stuff to do here, why mess it all up?” he asked, the worries of an eight-year-old boy slipping out without the brainstorming and the planning to hide behind.

"Well..." She sat down, piling them both into her lap. "I think Bill might be jealous. He doesn't get to do all the cool things we do because he's not a nice person. And sometimes mean people like him decide they're going to do whatever they want, no matter what. But we won't let him."

“Yeah, no way.” Greg shook his head. “Even if he is a demon, he doesn’t have to be so awful. He could choose to be nice like Mr. Crowley,” Crowley started to turn and protest, very aware of a boy who hadn't yet defined whispering, but a rather firm look from Aziraphale had him settling for a quiet scoff as the boy continued, “and be friends with an angel and save the world. But instead he’s the worst. And he shouldn’t get to do whatever he wants because of that.”

"Don't worry, corporal. He won't. We're going to beat him, Mystery Best Friends style, and Dipper’s going to love having some fresh eyes on things." She ruffled his hair again. "I think we're going to let him go when our waffles get back too. Do you want to go see if Waddles feels like being a horse to Jason Funderburker's cowboy?" 

“Yeah. I think Jason Funderburker would like some quality pig and frog time. It’s been a stressful day.” Greg gave his trusty frog a pat on the head. “Then we can help Dipper figure out how to help everybody in town, right?”

Mabel had a suspicion that helping everyone was simply going to mean stopping Bill, but they'd help who they could. "Absolutely. We'll put on our thinking caps."

“Aye-aye, General Mabel.”

She smiled, looking up when their brothers returned. Dipper had found a binder somewhere and there was a stack of papers in it. It immediately made her laugh. "You couldn't just put them in a folder?" 

"Probably, but the hole punch was right there - the good one that hasn't been used in sword fights - and then I found this. Plus, it's easier to organize." He looked over when the two decidedly-not-witches turned from the window. "It's all by date," he told Aziraphale. "I had to fill in some of Grunkle Ford's notes since he used a lot of invisible ink."

“Thank you. This will be most invaluable.” 

Aziraphale reverently placed his hands on the binder when it was handed to him, as if it was just as precious to him as any one of the books in his shop. It was a book, in a way, a collection of thoughts and knowledge gathered and compiled by human minds. He opened it, thumbing through the pages a bit and marveling at the detailed sketches accompanying the notes. 

“Reminds me of the sketches of Leonardo da Vinci,” he mused. “Or Marie Curie. Brilliant minds... I shall take good care of this. Best make sure we don’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

"It's probably better organized than his file in Hell," Crowley mused. 

"His what?" 

He looked at Dipper. "His file. Hell's head offices may be dark and dingy, but there's still records to keep. And, being a demon and former employee, Cipher's got one too." Crowley watched him, felt uncertainty give way to intrigue. "Want to get your hands on it, do you?" 

"I like to have everything I can. It's hard to solve a mystery with, like, only half the information."

“Well, that file is, I’m afraid, quite impossible to have at this point. Though who’s to say it’s even accurate from what you’ve told me about their filing system.” The angel nodded to Crowley. “Given how long he’s been exiled, I’m sure most everything is expired.”

Background information and job descriptions didn't exactly expire, but Crowley already knew how Aziraphale felt about him going to Hell. "You think so?" he teased anyway, amusement lacing his tone. 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed despite the teasing. While humanity’s thirst for knowledge and learning was one of his favorite things about them, in this case, they were better off not risking it. He raised an eyebrow as if to dare Crowley to challenge his attempts to curb any of the children’s interest in a file from Hell. 

“Yes, I rather do. Like… those occupational safety seminar certificates of completion. Or corporation license and registration. Insurance paperwork. All very dull. None of which is applicable now.”

"Hell has safety seminars," Dipper repeated, fascinated. It was wild and a little crazy, but Crowley _had_ called it an office. And it seemed like this whole thing was toeing the line of absurd, which seemed to suit Bill to a T. 

"Oh, yeah. Go about as well as you'd expect, though - what was it last week? Only twelve dismemberments? Usually Hastur'll do that the first hour." He tsked, privately delighting in the way Wirt paled. "Slacking."

“ _Woah_.” Greg’s eyes widened, curiosity sharp and delighted with the news, further alarming his brother. “Cool.”

“ _Greg_.”

“What? It’s Hell, what do you expect?” He shrugged, as if to say, ‘what can you do?’ “And it is cool. Safety seminars are boring.”

The twins each just wondered if Greg should actually be saying Hell. Was it a swear word if it was being used as a noun? They looked at each other and jointly gave up, shrugging identical shrugs. 

Dipper slipped his hand into Wirt’s, lacing their fingers to soothe. "Anyway, I'll let Pacifica know what's going on. Her parents are jerks, but they don't exactly..."

"Care?" Mabel supplied.

"I was gonna say 'pay attention.'"

"Same same, bro-bro."

"Anyway, _again_ , we should probably drop the barrier so Crowley can leave." And so the four of them could process this new information in their own ways. 

Aziraphale accompanied Dipper to the edge of the barrier, acting as the boy’s guardian angel as he left the safety of the Mystery Shack. Though he couldn’t sense where Bill was, or feel him coming necessarily, that was where he relied on Crowley for assistance. From where he was trapped on the porch, Crowley kept track of where Bill’s demonic presence stewed. If anything would shift drastically, they’d all know.

“Is there a church in this town?” Aziraphale asked as Dipper made a break in the barrier. “It’s not the same as a barrier, but consecrated ground may also deter demons. Should things go bebop-shaped when you find you’re out and about, unable to get back to this house, that may be an option. Providing the demon is inhabiting a body, that is.”

Dipper nodded, grabbing the shovel Grunkle Ford had left against the side of the house, and decided not to ask what bebop-shaped meant. Bad was good enough of an answer. "He doesn't usually body hop, y'know? He usually builds up to it, and I've got a theory on why. Knowing he lied about where he actually came from is throwing up some new questions because last time - during his Weirdmageddon four years ago? He did pull monsters out of a portal that leads to other dimensions. So kinda took it face value."

“Of course, why wouldn’t you? Not to mention his form is… questionable, even by demonic standards,” Aziraphale hummed, brow furrowing as he reflected on the boy’s own strange term. _Weirdmageddon_. How unusual, no wonder Hell didn’t want to be associated with it. It didn’t sound particularly evil. “And angelic standards, for that matter.”

"Yeah." 

Dipper pushed the shovel into the soft dirt, keeping his back to the house to look out to the woods. He remembered the last time too clearly. Copying everything, seeing snatches in every instance to be sure he got everything together correctly, had rattled him. Knowing he was trying again, would probably never give up, made him square his shoulders. 

"If he does get in my head again, will you... Will you hit me with holy water? If I have to die-" Which, wow, did he not want to think too deeply about that. "If I die, my family and everyone will be fine. Nobody'll be fine with Bill. I just- I'm sorry I'm asking. My family won't do it, your- Crowley can't, and I'm pretty sure angels are supposed to stop evil. So..."

Aziraphale tore his gaze from the surrounding forest, his vigilance faltering as the words sank in. This child - this human child - was asking him to _kill_ him, to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the world from war. His face betrayed his shock, lips parting as he fumbled for words. In that moment he felt as he did standing before the duck pond in St. James’s Park over one hundred years ago, Crowley’s request in hand as the ever-present fear of losing him became reality. 

It was always the holy water, wasn't it? Why did people feel like they could look to him and assume he could allow their destruction at the hands of his grace to happen so easily? Something meant to be pure and holy and _good_ had long ago been tainted for him.

“Absolutely not.” Aziraphale pointedly looked away, his expression hardening as he returned to watching the trees. “Out of the question. It will not need to come to that. Crowley and I will see to it, as will your family. This is not something you should bear on your shoulders alone.”

He'd just have to start carrying a vial of it around in his pocket. Bill wasn't exactly _careful_ with bodies. "It's fine. I'm used to it." 

Dipper dislodged the moonstone from the Earth and let the barrier shatter. The migraine didn't immediately return, which was almost more worrying. What was he up to? 

“It is _not_ fine. You didn’t ask for this, and no amount of mistakes you might have made in the past would mark you as unforgivable or undeserving of God’s mercy and protection.” Aziraphale felt the barrier go down and placed a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, making sure he looked at him while they still had a moment to themselves. “Good will triumph over evil. The good of humanity, no occult or ethereal beings have the right to take that from you. You _must_ have faith. It can mean the difference between the end of everything and life everlasting.”

It was really difficult not to believe it when looking at an actual angel, but blind faith in things was Mabel's thing. His usually meant giving faith a fallback plan. He'd still carry around some holy water, on the chance that it would make Bill think twice about bothering him, but that would be the fallback to the fallback. 

"Okay. We haven't died yet, so I'm up for keeping that track record going. I don't think Wirt would handle it that well anyway."

“I should think not. I don’t have to sense love to- well… sense that, I suppose. In the human sense. All four of you have such a capacity for love, I can feel it all throughout the town. Sprinkled about like dewdrops on blades of grass… Not at all what I expected from a colony of Hell, and that’s all you, dear boy.” 

Aziraphale hoped - he always held onto hope, he had to - that Dipper would take his words to heart, that he wouldn’t use himself as a scapegoat and see that he did have value beyond what he could do for others. Intrinsic value that all of humanity had. Without price. With a little miracle, he could have encouraged it. Instead he allowed him to feel a shimmer of warmth from an angel’s comfort and left it for him to choose. 

He squeezed his shoulder, then removed his hand to beckon Crowley off the porch. “Now. Go ahead and put that moonstone back before that oddpocalypse fellow tries anything.”

Dipper didn't hesitate, relieved to watch it glimmer when the shield reformed. "I wonder if there's a way to make it Bill-specific. Maybe carving his sigil on the moonstones or something. I don't want to keep your guy out."

“My…? Ah, yes, well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. We’ll figure something out.”

"Come on, angel." Crowley tucked the binder into his jacket pocket, making it fit alongside his phone simply because he wanted it to. He also wanted to get away from a building of holy water, but was fine pretending as if being trapped inside hadn't been a problem at all. "You were all worried about your books earlier, so let's go."

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale smiled after him as he strode purposefully towards the Bentley, then turned back to give Dipper a little wave. “Remember, please telephone us if you need anything. Day or night. Crowley sleeps, but we really don’t need to-”

“ _Oi_.”

“-right, so. Take care. Pip pip.” Aziraphale waved to the rest of the children, then followed Crowley to the car. 

It took ten seconds for him to pull out of the driveway and roughly three more to mutter, "Can't believe I told all that to a buncha human _kids_." 

“They needed to know. For their own protection and humanity’s.” Aziraphale wrung his hands together in his lap, looking anywhere but at Crowley, worries flooding him as the last conversation hung over his head. “You did the right thing, my dear. I don’t believe they’ll use anything against you.”

"Only 'cause you're around." He managed not to sneer, glancing at the angel and his fidgeting. Though he didn't know what exactly was wrong, he could feel worry filling his car and it went well beyond Aziraphale's normal disquiet in the passenger seat. "What'd he say? I saw your face." Watching him and the kid more than being a lookout for Cipher as he and his tantrum hadn't been in that part of the woods any longer. 

Aziraphale’s throat tightened as he glanced down at his hands, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “He asked me to destroy him with holy water, if it came down to it.”

"Mm. Well..." Crowley gestured vaguely. "It would be the easiest thing to do, wouldn't it?" 

“Well, I won’t.” He looked at him then. “I won’t do it, Crowley. Just because it’s easiest doesn’t mean an innocent should suffer the consequences of Hell’s vengeance.”

"I didn't think you actually would, angel. You couldn't even shoot the Antichrist and he was right in front of you. You're not gonna off a kid who's... who's _good_ enough to offer himself up like that." Which took the easiest option off the table, unfortunately. Aziraphale shouldn't even be worrying about it. "So you'll read all these pages the boy gave us and we'll come up with something. We might even manage to be competent this time."

That managed to get his lips to quirk up a bit, some of his fretting soothed by the demon’s reassurance - the only demon, in Aziraphale’s opinion, that could ever be reassuring. “Wouldn’t that be something… And that’s alright with you? Not that under normal circumstances it wouldn’t be, but these aren’t exactly normal circumstances and it would be for the good of humanity and- and it’s our side, so I want…” Aziraphale took a steadying breath, even if it was one he didn’t need. “We decide these things together. Is what I’m trying to say. I want to take your feelings into account, as well.”

Crowley shrugged, taking his turn not to look to his side. They didn't talk about feelings. "Not personally interested in killing kids," he muttered. Had _he_ killed Adam? No. No, he hadn't. The gun had been well within reach and everything. "And if it makes you feel better, if I didn't know anything about other angels, I'd ask you to be the one to kill me too."

"Why would that make me feel-" 

"Because you'd say _no_ ," Crowley interrupted, annoyed that he had to explain. "You're exactly what those other idiots up there should be, so of course you'd say no. And then you'd figure out how to avoid it. It's exactly what you did last year and it's exactly what you would’ve done four years ago if you'd known what was happening here. Hat boy is the smart one. He asked you, the _angel_ , because you'd say no. Whether he did it subconsciously or not. He loves those other three and this town too bloody much to leave without a fight and a proper angel would help."

“Crowley…” 

Aziraphale felt a wave of relief and love crest inside his very being, warming the center of his corporation. He wanted to believe that, wanted to believe in a boy so willing to protect the ones he loved but not at his own expense. He also wanted to believe that was why Dipper had asked him, that it wasn't because he thought he was capable of such destruction or that he wouldn't see the needless loss of life and grieve it. There was no avoiding it at times, and he'd witnessed his fair share of untimely and unjust deaths. It was part of life, part of free will and humanity. But as a principality, he was tasked with protecting all those living on Earth, not just the greater good.

Of course Crowley understood that. Somehow Crowley always seemed to understand. It was why they had their side now, after all. They were the only ones who could really see each other.

Aziraphale knew better than to thank him straight out, but the tender smile he graced him with conveyed the gratitude well enough. “You might be onto something there, my dear.”

Crowley risked a glance. He practically lit up the passenger seat. It managed to please him and make him uncomfortable all at once, a feeling warmer and sweeter than Hellfire burning in his chest. "Ngk," he managed, trusting Aziraphale to hear what he didn't say. 

They had their side this time. Crowley wasn't planning to run and Aziraphale wasn't keeping secrets. They'd nearly botched it the last time, but not again. Crowley would wager on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I love all the... talking."  
> -Aziraphale, Good Omens, Episode 3, "Hard Times"
> 
> There's no better quote to describe this chapter. There was quite a bit of talking here, but necessary to get everyone on the same page and flesh out their interactions. Hope it wasn't too much!
> 
> Also, we're aware that the timelines don't exactly mesh perfectly... technically there's about a 2-3 year gap between the events of the MBF 'verse (if it's set in 2015-2016) and Good Omens series (if it's set in 2018-2019), but you know, we're just going to ignore that. Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, and all that. In this universe, the events line up perfectly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back from our hiatus! And looks like a lot has changed in the past three weeks... Hope you are all safe and taking care of yourselves during this time.
> 
> We're getting into some of our own lore/headcanons for this chapter, but we're very excited about how it's all come together!

He hadn't counted on them getting through the barrier. An angel immune to Hellfire shouldn't also be immune to a barrier, and it _infuriated_ Bill that he couldn't hear what was being said behind it. A goody two-shoes angel and a _soft_ demon helping Pine Tree was exactly what he didn't need. He'd been making some progress before they'd shown up, but it was virtually impossible to separate the quartet when they left the Shack and completely impossible when they were in it.

Of course a Duke of Hell wouldn't be much use. Heaven and Hell were both so small-minded, ultimately. They weighed everything on a scale Bill had left behind years ago. Centuries, really, when he'd first popped up onto Earth with instructions, "Have fun and rip it up. Sow Hell's seeds."

 _Have fun_.

He'd _had_ fun. He _had_ ripped the place up. He'd fashioned dinosaurs out of God's fake bones and trapped them in amber. He'd screwed up the timeline for this tiny part of the world. He'd helped Trembley get elected and happily ignored that it had ultimately been a failure, with him entirely erased from history. He'd encouraged visiting demons to _try_ and gain some sort of imagination because that, he was convinced, would win out in the final war. 

The only one who'd shown a spark of it had been good old Crowley. Still Crawly, then, he'd appeared with a unicorn and Bill had secretly watched him set their continued population in motion. _That_ was what he'd needed, but the serpent hadn't surfaced again. At least not here.

So Bill had decided to think outside the box. He'd suffered for it, sure. His original vessel had burned away in the crossing of dimensions, but he'd found what he'd been seeking. A whole host of creatures just _filled_ with dark imaginations and wicked dreams. He'd ripped them into this world, and Hell - small, _weak_ Hell - had turned on him. Bubbled him up. 

Fury still burned in him. Cover him up, officially cast him out, and why? Because of _God_? The Great Plan was boring. Pointless. Unimaginative. Very unlike God in so many ways, and yet they'd been obsessed with it. 

He landed on two feet, giving Hastur the visage he expected from a fellow demon. He barely remembered this body. Slim, lanky even, with a mop of golden hair and an eyepatch on one side to hide the pit the angels had left him with. The other was something like Crowley's, but he'd never been a snake. He just liked the look and he'd been quietly jealous of the gold. He'd covered up his red with it. 

It twitched now, flickering between colors as he held onto a broken human form. "So. You thought they'd stay in London."

The dark black eyes were like twin coals from Hell with how they glowed in fury. " _Crowley_ ," Hastur sneered, the name like a bad taste in his mouth. "He never leaves London. Too busy playing house with the angel. Pretending to be _British_. He shouldn't have bothered to come."

"He did, though." He lifted a hand off his cane, a finger wagging while red cracked through the gold in his eye. "And he brought his angel with him. They're playing house here now with the kid. They _talked_ to Pine Tree. Do you know what the most dangerous thing is with those four kids?"

"Uh… knives?" Hastur guessed.

Had Satan actually cared to look up, he might've been impressed by the bellow Bill let out. It was as if a thousand voices, a thousand different versions of himself, exploded at once. " _Hope_. One shred of it and they can suddenly do anything." He spit. Nothing hit the ground. "Angels bring hope. And _faith_ and _love_." He muttered them like they were curses. The eye he didn't have burned like a fresh wound. "How do you take down an angel who's resistant to Hellfire?" 

"He can't be _that_ good of an angel if Heaven tried to execute him. Both have gone native, more like the humans they bloody care about," Hastur grumbled, the toad beneath his limp wig peeking its beady little eyes out. "Just because he can't be killed doesn't mean he can't be broken. Discorporate one of them. Both of them. They won't be getting new bodies."

Except that would leave whatever the Hell either of them had become in Heaven and Hell. If they had the power to resist what should've been able to destroy them, what other powers could they have? Hastur blinked slowly as he growled, low and coarse like grave dirt lodged in his throat.

"Crowley will pay for what he has done, one way or another."

"I'm sure he's terrified of you. Shaking in his snakeskin boots."

"He should be, if he knows what's good for him. No… bad for him. No…" Hastur frowned, unable to leave the mental loop he was caught in. "Demons don't like good, so… good for him, no…"

Bill snapped his fingers a few times. Getting Hastur's attention always felt like it took several miracles. "If you want to get revenge on Snake Eyes so much, focus on the angel. God didn't take his halo, so She still sees something Heaven doesn't. Those kids are gonna see it too and then I'm- _we're_ fucked. Next time they're in town, I want to see this Hellfire immunity for myself and then maybe we can use those knives you mentioned while they're distracted." He smiled, too wide for his face. "Et tu, Brute?" 

"What… what is that? Is that some kind of a joke?" Hastur snarled. "I'm Hastur, Duke of Hell."

For now. "Congratulations. Now _listen to me_."

\----

Dipper's corkboards were full. All four of them. Their simple summer had been turned on its ear and he hated it. It hadn't been the plan. He pulled off his hat, rubbing his brow as a sigh escaped. Bill was never the plan, but Wirt knew how often he'd been a problem now. 

So did Mabel, but he'd talk to her later. She was teaching Greg a few magic card tricks as he had yet to be bored with the magic set he'd gotten at Christmas. After watching Crowley and Aziraphale change the world with a few snaps, he'd probably never get tired of magic. 

"You're being _really_ quiet and it's actually kinda starting to be scary," he admitted, though he'd been just as quiet while tacking up his theories. It was a lot. Even for him, this was a lot. He couldn't imagine being Wirt. 

"Sorry, I…"

Wirt sat cross-legged on Dipper's bed, fiddling with the pieces of his clarinet for something to do with his hands while his boyfriend worked. They needed to talk about this, to go back and forth and figure things out, but they also needed to process. The notes pinned to the corkboards and pen scribbles bleeding off the edges were Dipper's way of processing. Trying not to panic was Wirt's, apparently.

"Sorry, that's not what I'm-" Wirt sighed, twisting the clarinet. "I'm not trying to scare you. I just don't know where to start."

"Yeah. I... I don't either. If you ever wanted to know where my mental limit is, it's right here." He poked the word _angel_ and shook his head, turning away to look at his boyfriend. "This is so... I mean..." He dropped his hat on the bed post, needing to come closer. "This is so out of my scope, man. My brain won't stop spinning."

Wirt set aside his clarinet and patted the mattress right beside him. "Well, honestly it makes me feel better knowing there's actual angels out there. You know, if there have to be demons. Though the fact that we just met one is a little… well, okay, a lot insane."

" _So_ insane," Dipper agreed, relieved at the bubble of laughter that spilled out as he took his spot beside his boyfriend. "And we met his demon boyfriend or whatever. Mabel thinks they're probably husbands, I can tell, but, like, _what_."

"I know, seriously, what's the story behind that?" Wirt asked, unable to help smiling at Dipper as he bumped their shoulders together. "I'd be worried about Mabel's attempts to matchmake them if they weren't already… whatever they are. I mean, they're an angel and a demon. The social construct of marriage probably doesn't mean anything to them."

"It's probably like a common law thing like up in Canada. Married but not." Dipper banded an arm around Wirt's waist. "I want to ask them a thousand questions, but I've always chalked religion up to 'unknowable' and that's fine. I think I'll leave it there, safe and undisturbed. Aziraphale basically said I'm worth keeping around, so I think I can just keep doing what I'm doing."

"You have an angel's blessing." Wirt grinned, leaning in to peck the corner of his mouth. "Oh my gosh. A real actual angel was sitting in your room. And a demon that didn't want to kill us. And their couch is still here." He nodded at the loveseat that looked so out of place with its ornate, wood-carved frame and velvet upholstered cushions. "Because… because the end of the world is coming. Again. For the third time, apparently."

And there it was. Dipper blew out a slow breath, dropping his cheek to Wirt's shoulder. "Seriously. Well, the first time, Gravity Falls took Bill down. The second time, Crowley and Aziraphale were somehow involved. And now the third time... Like, we're experts at this point. Who's Bill think he's dealing with?" 

"Well, you guys are experts. Greg and I haven't been part of any kind of Apocalypse. That we can remember, anyway…" Wirt nuzzled his nose into Dipper's curls. "What… do you remember what I did? Or what I said I did, in August?"

"You lived. You and Greg and Amy and Jonathan." Jonathan and Amy had gone to the school, so he wasn't _completely_ sure on some of that but he'd never say it. "You went to Sara's place and hid in her basement because I told you to find low ground." And Wirt had been panicky because they hadn't had birthdays together yet and now the Kraken was ripping ships apart and what did it all _mean_. "We made jokes about pool and I think I told you I loved you, like, a billion times."

Wirt hugged him tightly, heart in his throat as he listened. "Did I tell you?"

He paused, thinking about how to answer. The first time, in Wirt's memory, had been later but Dipper had both instances. Both firsts. It didn't seem fair to keep it from Wirt now that he was asking. "Yeah. You went to the bathroom and called me and we talked for a while. Then Greg was Greg and followed you, so we all got on speaker with Mabel too. And then you being you, you forgot your charger at home. It was just so _you_."

"Jerk." Wirt hid his face in his hair, but he pinched his side for a little payback even if his chest was tight. 

It was almost like it could remember the constricting panic winding around his ribs as he sat on the tile floor of someone's basement bathroom, praying to someone, anyone, that his world as he knew it wasn't going to end. Not when he'd just found something so good. But it was only an almost, still too fuzzy, like the vague remnants of a dream.

"Guess we know for this time, don't put me in charge of bringing important supplies." 

"You _did_ bring the important supplies. Your clarinet, the spell book I got you and the rubbing from Lorna and Beatrice's headstones, one of your poetry notebooks, your cape." The most important things. "The last thing I remember was that we promised... We all promised we'd meet in the cave with glowing mushrooms. And then I woke up in my bed and it was Sunday."

"How can I not remember any of that? How could someone make all of that just… like nothing?" Wirt pulled back so he could nudge their foreheads together, needing to see Dipper's eyes. "I think that's what scares me most. How is that any different than Bill? Taking what's real and- and _changing_ it…"

"I... It didn't _feel_ like Bill? I think that's why it was a little easier to let it go, y'know? It felt... It felt safe? Like this reality was so much more _right_ than what I'd thought it was and that's not just because missile alarms were going off everywhere. It was a little... This is gonna sound weird, but it felt innocent? Like something Greg would do."

Wirt pursed his lips as he considered that. "Really? I mean, I guess they did mention eleven years… maybe that's how old the- I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe the Antichrist was only a kid, too. Wrapped up in a destiny he didn't even have a say in. Oh my gosh, _really_ can't believe I'm trying to paint the actual Antichrist in a sympathetic light."

Dipper kissed him. He just had to. It was so cute. "It all ended up okay, so you can. I had books. My favorite series - I had all the missing ones. And Mabel had this yarn she'd been saving up for? It was like apology gifts. Like 'hey, sorry, I almost killed everything, here's a neat thing.' Definitely like what a kid in trouble would do."

"Definitely what Greg has done and will continue to do," Wirt huffed. "Probably until he's as old as Aziraphale and Crowley look."

Dipper laughed. "Beyond that. They look... late forties, maybe. So way beyond that."

"Don't say that. I don't know if I can put up with that past my fifties, Dipper." Wirt slumped against him, as melodramatically as he could make it.

He cuddled closer, nuzzling their brows together. "You will. You'll be an even more amazing sass master." He bit his lip, eyes dancing as he tucked the Biblical Apocalypse away again. He remembered it clearer than most, but it would never be _real_ to him. Not the way this was. "And I'll be there to see it and Mabel will still shake her head at us and call us waffles. We still won't know what the heck it means."

It was Wirt's turn to kiss him, a sweet, lingering little brush of lips on lips. "Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't sound _so_ awful."

"Nah. There are way worse things, babe."

"You're right. Get off. Get away." Wirt half-heartedly shoved at him, rolling his eyes as he tried to wriggle out of Dipper's embrace. "You've ruined the moment. Why."

"Because that's the face. Aziraphale looked at Crowley like that everytime he started... I think he was teasing us, which is weird to think about. But everytime he did, Aziraphale would get _that_ look and that's how I knew they were together. Because I know you love me when you look like that."

"This is not a look of love," he protested, but stopped trying to get away and instead flopped down on the bed, pulling Dipper with him. "Wait, is that your way of trying to suck up to me? Saying I look like an 'angel.'"

"Mm, no. You look more like a total babe," he teased. 

"You are the _worst_ ," Wirt groaned, pressing his head back into the bedding.

"And you love me." Dipper snuggled against his side, arm slung over him and their legs tangling. "You love me," he repeated. "We're gonna stop Bill, pilgrim. And then we're going to have the rest of our lives for you to get used to me calling you babe."

Wirt squeezed him back, soaking up his warmth and weight pressing against him. "Two out of three isn't bad," he murmured. "But yeah, we'll stop him. We have to. We have help this time. I mean, with an angel and a good demon looking out for us, we'll stand a good chance, don't you think?"

\----

"'For I am involved in mankind,'" Aziraphale muttered to himself, hunched over the binder Dipper Pines had put together for him, open in his lap.

A plush reading chair found itself a new dwelling place in the guest room of the Northwest Manor, angled in the corner and close to the window for just the ideal amount of sun to warm an elbow or a knee. Aziraphale thought it the perfect place to settle in and study all the information they'd been given on this Cipher demon, and it would have been, if not for the increasing tension pulsing in his temple. Even his little spectacles couldn't help him concentrate through the distracting fog.

He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for strength. "'Therefore, send not to know… For whom the bell tolls-'"

A sharp ringing sound echoed down the marble halls, followed by Preston Northwest's bellow for his daughter. Aziraphale opened his eyes and exhaled on a loud huff, glaring at the closed door.

"'It tolls for _thee_ ,'" he snapped, plucking his spectacles off his nose and pocketing them. "How many little bells can one man possibly own?"

"Dozens, apparently." Crowley hated them too, but had been waiting for Aziraphale's breaking point. It gave him more leeway and upped his own anger to a point that outweighed his laziness. "His daughter _really_ doesn't like them. I can feel the fear every time they jingle."

"How terrible. Treating his own flesh and blood like she's a servant meant to do his bidding. Treating the _servants_ like they're less than people!" Aziraphale shared a disdainful look with Crowley, one he didn't have to guess at with the demon's sunglasses tucked away for the moment. "I might have to go elsewhere to read in peace. Or else soundproof this room, but I don't know how I could ignore a child in need… I'm also concerned about where I'm sending all the bells. I simply have no idea."

The bells were, unbeknownst to Aziraphale and Crowley, all finding themselves on top of the desk belonging to the Archangel Sandalphon, who had no idea how they got there, but was determined to find the source of this prank. He'd been kicked out of the Heavenly choir for being unable to hold a tune, and had been relegated to bell duty. He was still bitter about it.

"I wouldn't worry about it, angel. Can't be worse than here." Crowley shrugged and rolled lazily from the bed. "But I was thinking about what those kids said. About him not paying attention? Kinda wanna find out how true that is. The girl knows we can do proper magic, so it'd probably keep her entertained and unafraid."

"Oh?" Aziraphale perked up, curiosity piqued and eager to play along as he searched his enchanting eyes for a thread of what he might be plotting. "Well, if you're keeping a girl entertained and unafraid, then I suppose I don't have much to object to, do I? But whatever tricks you have up your demonic sleeve… it wouldn't happen to involve a little quiet, would it?"

Not even a little bit. He held up a hand, charming tartan earmuffs dangling from his fingers. "For you, anyway."

It did the trick, Aziraphale beaming at him like Christmas had come early with an extra dose of cheer and good will. "Oh, thank you, my dear. I think these should do nicely."

"If they can keep out screams of the damned, they can keep out bells." And what he was going to make the bells do and become. Preston would be the one shuddering at the sight of them once he was through and it had been a good, _long_ while since he'd gotten to freely play. 

Aziraphale took out his spectacles once again, though he did shudder as the bell's ringing chimed through their door for what was hopefully the final time during their stay here. He placed them on, then secured the darling earmuffs over his head. They were as soft as anything, like clouds or cotton. The tension melted from his neck and shoulders as he sighed in contentment, then he opened the binder and returned to his reading, sans irritating interruptions.

If he knew what Crowley was up to, he didn't say. As he'd said, as long as it resulted in some good for someone in the world, then it must've been okay. At the very least, not a wile worth thwarting.

Which was just fine with Crowley _and_ Pacifica. He vacillated between calling her "blonde girl" and "rich girl," but he also drove her dad crazy. It took two solid hours, every bell he tried trumpeting like an elephant or squeaking like a rat or, in one case, making absolutely no sound until Preston had held it near his own ear and a foghorn had honked. He'd thrown it, making it jingle again, and the sound it made rattled the windows. 

And the best thing of all was that no one else seemed to hear it. No one but Pacifica (eardrums protected by a minor miracle), her father (eardrums very unprotected), and the being making it all happen. She didn't know he was a demon anymore than she knew Aziraphale was an angel, trusting Dipper when he'd simply told her that they were magic, harmless, and to just go along with their stories. 

Watching her dad steadily lose it while trying to call servants and trying to discuss a school Pacifica knew didn't exist was probably a highlight in her life. And all Crowley had said to start was "Listen and learn." At the end of listening and learning, her dad had gathered each and every bell and tossed them over the edge of the cliff one by one after stuffing them with newspaper so their bells wouldn't chime on the way down. 

And so they wouldn't become snakes, but that had been for Preston's eyes only. The last thing he'd done had been to have the bells turn into tiny snakes. That had been the big one, the last straw. A dozen desperate rings, a dozen snakes coiled and hissing in front of the man. His panicked sounds had been lovely when the blonde girl, entirely unaware of the snakes' presence, had scooped up what she'd perceived as bells, and gently set them in a box atop the others. Preston wouldn't be bothering her anytime soon after that. 

Crowley then disappeared as far as Pacifica knew, but a black snake with red-bellied scales slid up the stairs. It had been a long while since he'd ditched the limbs, but Aziraphale would likely be busy yet and he knew just where he wanted to be. 

The door swung open, locked behind him with a thought, and he slithered across the floor, the carpet gently tickling his scales as he curled around himself and rested his chin right on Aziraphale's shoe. He tasted the air, pleased by his own comfort and the familiar studiousness above. Aziraphale had notes now, papers at his elbow. He looked forward to looking at them later, but craved a nap after his amusing torments. 

All the while, Aziraphale had been engrossed in the material collected for him. The minutes were indistinguishable from seconds and hours, his attention only faltering twice. Once to find a pen, and once because he was so distracted he forgot to tell his corporation it didn't have to sneeze. Dipper - or possibly the Wirt boy courting him - had been thoughtful enough to provide him blank sheets of paper for his own note-taking. Just as he had with Agnes Nutter's nice and accurate prophecies regarding the Apocalypse, Aziraphale honed in on any detail that gave him some insight to this Bill Cipher's motives.

The main one was obviously for him to possess a boy, yes. That would allow him to interact with the physical world and properly manifest his powers. Miracles, divine and demonic, were limited without a vessel, everyone knew that.

What Aziraphale did find interesting - if a little befuddling - was that Cipher had apparently marketed himself as a 'dream demon.' Whatever the devil that was. In the back of his mind, the only dream demon that Aziraphale could think of was Crowley, seeing as he was, as the humans would say, 'dreamy' and the angel had entertained many a daydream centered on said demon. Truly the demon of his dreams. But that clearly wasn't what Cipher had in mind when he coined the term.

The sun had started its slow descent by the time Aziraphale thought to look up. He blinked out of the haze he'd been enveloped in, watching as the shadows of dusk stretched across the floor instead of the nice patch of sun that had been there approximately four hours before. He squinted at the clock on the bedside table. Ah, of course. It was time for tea.

Aziraphale removed the earmuffs from his head as he surveyed the room. Though he felt his demon's presence, it took him a moment to realize just where he'd tucked himself away. A soppy sort of smile spread across the angel's face as he watched the serpent's tongue flick in the air while he dozed, more of his coils curled around Aziraphale's ankle as the sun drifted away from the window.

"Oh, you wily, old serpent," he murmured much too fondly, then bent forward to brush his fingertips against the smooth, cool scales. "You tired yourself out, didn't you, dearest?"

He lifted into the touch more like a cat than a snake, a satisfied hiss escaping like a purr might. Each bell had been four miracles at once - protect the girl's ears, keep Preston from being deafened, keep everyone else in the home from hearing anything except a bell, make the bell do something ridiculous. The snakes at the end, so another four: turn the bells into mini serpents, let Preston see them, keeping his daughter from seeing them, keep anyone else who may walk in from seeing them. All rapid fire or at random based on Preston's levels of desperation.

He lifted his chin to place it on Aziraphale's shin instead, blinking with eyes just a little too, well, human, but they held his answer as well as his fondness for an angel who'd look at him like this and still not see a monster. For only a moment, they held more, the secrets of six thousand years. No one had warned the tempter to avoid temptation, to avoid soft light after so much harsh darkness in Hell. So he hadn't been prepared for his hereditary enemy to speak to him calmly, to look at him in gratitude for a sarcastic sort of quip, to tell him the truth about a missing sword when he wouldn't even tell God. No one had warned him of his _own_ instincts, to not step closer when a new sound rumbled in darkened skies, and a soft white wing lifted to shield him from the first rain. 

Everyone had told him demons shouldn't feel love, but no had warned him that they _could_. 

Sixty centuries of hiding what had happened in roughly sixty seconds couldn't be completely undone by a single year of their side, though, so it only lived in his gaze that one moment before he slid away. And absolutely did not rub every inch of himself across Aziraphale's ankle as he did so, slithering under the bed so he could stand at the opposite side of it. 

Crowley cracked his neck this side and that, shoulders rolling as he got used to having joints again. He didn't bother placing his sunglasses on, not when it was just them, and turned around with a faint quirk of a smile. "Worth it. Rich girl enjoyed herself and it's finally bloody quiet."

"Excellent work." Aziraphale stood as well, notes carefully gathered so they wouldn't fall out of the binder. "I do think I've made some progress, too. What do you say to discussing it over something to eat? I am feeling a bit peckish after all that."

"Did some digging on the town through rich girl. Nothing worthwhile there, but the family's chef trained in Paris." Crowley retrieved his sunglasses from thin air and slipped them on. "Without all the bells, you'll have to talk to her like she's an actual person. 'Less you want to just miracle something."

Aziraphale hummed, pretending to actually consider it. "Paris, you say? What do you think the chances are that she'll make us some crêpes?"

"High, I'd think. I can be very convincing."

"Then let's do that. Perhaps we can also convince a nice bottle of red to accompany our meal." Aziraphale tucked the binder in the crook of his arm, gesturing politely with the other for Crowley to exit the room first.

A rather nice - and rather expensive - Château Margaux found that it had already been decanting for the past thirty minutes while Aziraphale chatted amicably with the chef as she prepared their food. He was the kind of man-shaped being that one couldn't help but tell their whole life story to, where she had studied, how she came to love cooking, and how many nieces and nephews she had. Apparently living as the Northwest family's personal chef didn't leave one much time for a social life of one's own.

She whipped up a light, fluffy batter for a pair of crêpes, different fillings for each, though both were assured to compliment their wine nicely at Aziraphale's request. "I believe I shall indulge in the chicken with Gruyere, spinach, and cream. And perhaps duck with mushroom and asparagus for Mr. Crowley, here."

"Oh, well, Mr. Northwest has been saving the duck for-" She seemed to pause and rearrange her thoughts, Crowley not even having to pause his perusal of the knife drawer. They were all so bleeding _sharp_. "-guests. So, of course, the duck is fine. What was I thinking?"

Aziraphale just smiled, as bright as ever. "Thank you, dear lady. We sincerely appreciate it." Though he did _tsk_ when he looked over and saw just what Crowley was doing. Demons and their knives.

They sat down in the formal dining room, and if anyone in the house had a mind to go in there, they would promptly recall that they were needed elsewhere and left the two of them undisturbed. A bed of greens and sautéed baby potatoes garnished the plates alongside the savory crêpes, both of which held Aziraphale's attention for the first minute of their meal as he indulged. After the first few bites and a sip of wine, he felt ready to dive into his research.

"Did you know he's been calling himself a dream demon? This Cipher. I don't suppose that's a real post in Hell, is it?" 

"Not really. More of a human label." Though it did prickle in the back of Crowley's mind, plucking at memories older than the Fall. He tossed an arm over the back of his chair, lounged back with the stem barely held in his fingers. "They'll add adjectives onto anything."

"Well, he's apparently made quite the habit of infiltrating people's minds. And not just for possession. He implants and takes information right out of them. Complete disregard for privacy."

"Well... Not hard to do that. Get in, get out, and y'know exactly how to get what you want from 'em."

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. "Have you done this sort of thing? Rifle through people's memories and innermost secrets?" 

"Don't get holier than thou on me, angel. I've been a demon a Helluva lot longer than I was an angel. Rifled through the rich girl's head today to figure out why the bells scared her, her dear old dad's to find out why he was obsessed with them, and then I took care of things." But he hated that Aziraphale could make him feel the need to explain. Not _guilty_. He never felt guilty, but... "I don't yank things to the surface so they feel it and I definitely don't rifle through dreams. They're a minefield."

That seemed to settle Aziraphale, his scrutiny softening as he cut into his crêpe with the side of his fork. "That's where most of my concern lies, with the latter two you just said. According to the information in the section on summoning him, that's what humans tend to use him for. On other humans and even on themselves. He convinced the children's great-uncle - not the one you got drunk, the other one - to build a portal to other dimensions. So it seems he's only able to take himself in and out of dimensions. Not other creatures or people. Clearly not on your level with the ability to control his power."

"Well, I can't imagine anybody else stopping Satan in his tracks." And there was plenty of pride in knowing he had. "And Cipher did manage to discorporate himself going in, so I didn't think he'd be too powerful." Crowley sipped his wine, memories still trying to surface and him eager to tamp them right back down. It wasn't a time he liked thinking about. His nose wrinkled a little, the barest hint of displeasure. "Can't believe he'd let himself get _summoned_. I skipped that seminar. Most annoying thing, anybody being able to yank you 'round. Not for me."

"Really? People can't summon you? I don't think I knew that…"

Crowley could've sworn he had. "Angel, you know a _lot_ less about demons than I thought you did before we got here."

"You're the only demon I've spent any time with, up until the Apocalypse," Aziraphale reminded him with a huff. "I didn't exactly make a habit of getting to know any others, and anything Heaven had to say on the matter… well, I can't say they were accurate in their depiction of demons either. Certainly not when it came to you."

"Yeah, well, they like to forget where my lot started." And it amazed Crowley every day that Aziraphale still had his halo intact. Like Hell had just been a part of the plan and anything after that was gravy. He almost didn't think it was fair, but _nothing_ would be more wrong than Aziraphale not being exactly as he was. "But, no, I can't be summoned because I never filled out the paperwork and I skipped the seminar. Nobody understood that humans would _use_ it. They're too curious for their own good, too bloody impulsive."

"But I suppose, if you needed to use humans to access your full power, then you _would_ want to be summoned," Aziraphale hummed, his gaze abandoning his meal to focus on the pages within the binder. He set his fork aside so he could write the thought down before he lost it. "Maybe having a corporation alone wasn't enough. Or he was just careless with it and didn't realize his folly until it was too late."

"Could be he _wanted_ to be discorporated. He never went back to Hell to be reissued a new body. Could be he thought it'd slow him down." Crowley tapped the table. "Usually, when a demon leaves Hell _planning_ on possession, they don't take their body. It's faster to be discorporated. Make a direct path to who you want and _bam_. The trouble is, demons can't perform miracles in a regular human because they usually fight possession and you can't just yank a soul from its body. My lot would be doing it constantly."

"Well, he did."

"What do you mean _he_ _did_? That's Death's job."

"He didn't kill him." Aziraphale turned a few pages, then tapped one of the notes he'd circled. "See here. He essentially 'yanked' young Dipper Pines's soul out of his body and took it over himself according to this account. He needed a deal to do it though. You're saying no other demon has thought to do that?"

"No, _I_ thought of it. I'm saying it's _impossible_. Human souls are so intricately tied to their minds and their dreams... Nobody knows how to navigate all that but Death. That's the... That's the whole point of having Death. He gathers up all the souls who lose their bodies. It's not... How the _fuck_..."

Crowley's legitimate befuddlement at the notion made Aziraphale pause and reconsider the notes that had been given to him. Invaluable knowledge, beyond most human understanding, but still very human at the core of it. As he thought, he reached out to give Crowley's hand a pat to settle him.

"What if he doesn't remove the entire soul?" he asked after a minute. "What if 'dream demon' isn't just an adjective?" Aziraphale sat back, but left their hands connected, tapping a little more insistently as he put the pieces together. "Humans consciously fight possession, they have to be aware of it, and consciousness is more difficult to sway than, say, the subconscious. Perhaps that's what he removed. The conscious barrier." His hand stilled. "I don't know how one would be able to snip the threads connecting the two, but someone that was an expert in the subconscious mind might just have an inkling."

"Which leaves God, Death, and the angel who..." The memories he'd been ignoring snapped up, front and center. He'd looked different then, as they all had, whole. But he'd kept his golden looks after the Fall, remaining eye blood red. "Bollocks."

"What is it?"

"Dream demon started as dream angel, Aziraphale. Cipher knows how to cut the threads because he put them there. Or at least helped design them."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, lips parting with a soft 'oh' of understanding. "Well, that's… oh dear. If he knows all the inner workings of the subconscious mind…"

"Right." Crowley's hand turned, fingertips brushing Aziraphale's wrist. "He failed the first time with the kid and then again with the other one. What happened there?" 

"It seems with young Wirt it was more of a traditional possession, though a deal was still involved. The boy claimed to have stayed inside his body while it was taken over, eventually regained control, and frightened the demon out by… threatening to trap him in Purgatory." Aziraphale swallowed, giving the demon's hand small squeeze. "I found there's quite the pattern of sacrifice with these children."

"Cipher's always been one for deals. Never liked him, but he was always following me around. Y'know, before." He shook his head, thumb rubbing against the side of Aziraphale's hand, gently, so soft it was as if he was afraid for it to be noticed. "Stop worrying about the kids. We'll make sure they all survive."

"Of course, of course." Aziraphale's gaze bounced from their hands to the dark lenses hiding Crowley's eyes, but he'd had centuries to learn to read them without seeing them, from the furrow of his eyebrows and set of his lips. "I just don't want that Cipher exploiting them. He can't carry on this way."

He'd been noticed, he knew, and his first instinct was always to withdraw. His fingers flexed, he felt Aziraphale's grip lessen. Silent permission to let go, break the contact. His thumb rubbed a little more firmly. "I wasn't planning on letting him."

Aziraphale fought back the wobbling smile tugging at his lips, if only to keep from embarrassing either of them. "Neither am I. We'll think of something, my dear. You and I."

"Right." Crowley was embarrassed anyway. He knew every expression of Aziraphale's very expressive face. "Probably should've checked to see if Cipher left anything behind in the kid while we were there. I'd bet he'd let you in to get it out."

"Oh, but I believe I'd have a harder time detecting it. It would take me quite a while to carefully peruse his mind… you'd be much quicker, darling."

Crowley traded his wine for his glasses so Aziraphale could really see exactly how unimpressed he was with that idea. "Angel, when the Hell are you going to believe I've never left this body? You're the only one of the two of us who's possessed anybody and you didn't have a problem. Performing miracles straight off." 

"I believe you're perfectly capable of it as well, Crowley. If I can do it, I don't see why you can't," Aziraphale assured him, eyes glinting with a mixture of fond exasperation. "And it's not the ability to perform miracles that concerns me, it's the detecting of demonic interference. If he left something behind, I'm certain it wouldn't be obvious to spot."

"No, but I might be able to tell you what to look for. Can't do more than that because I can't leave." He'd really thought it would be obvious, but he'd marked his body before he'd even stepped foot - or scales - on Earth. Of course Aziraphale wouldn't know. He'd never told him because the reasons were personal and he'd never been good at sharing his feelings. Huffing, Crowley turned his head a little, tapped the snake-like mark. "This is my demonic name. I never wanted to leave this corporation, so I made sure I couldn't. Straight off."

Aziraphale itched to reach out and brush his thumb against the mark, but he'd had practice resisting that particular temptation since the moment he first saw it. He'd just always assumed it was Crowley's style, a demonic beauty mark of sorts, always teasing him, just south of his hairline, inches from his ear. Whenever he tried his coin trick on the demon, he made sure to do it on the opposite side, never wanting to risk accidently grazing it. How could he have hoped to explain that away? Such a breach of personal space, but even then he'd never even thought the tattoo would be something as personal as his _name_. 

"But how… When we-" He wordlessly gestured between the two of them, trying to imply their little swap to fool their respective offices. "And wait, what would happen if you _were_ discorporated?" 

"Well, the swap worked out because I didn't really step _out_. We just sort of... _mingled_ a bit and leaked into each other. Part of it could even be because you're an angel. I didn't think hard on it when we did it, just knew it'd work." The same way he'd known his car wouldn't burn if he crossed the M25 and his body wouldn't go up in flames because if it did... "And, y'know, I also didn't really think hard on possibly getting discorporated before I did this anyway. It was right after demon orientation, first day in Hell. No one knew anything but I knew I wasn't gonna let anybody order me out of my body." It was the last thing he had left from Heaven. "But if I did... Well, that'd be it. For me."

Had Aziraphale needed his heart it would've stopped right then. If he'd needed his lungs he would've been winded by the blow as if it wasn't any different from being punched in the gut by an Archangel. It _was_ like a punch to the gut, really. Sudden and sharp, unexpected and… and _painful_.

"All this time- are you saying that all this time if something had _happened_ to you-" 

He couldn't fathom it. How many times had Crowley sauntered his way between him and danger? It had always been a risk, associating with each other and lending a hand when needed, but a risk to their standing with their offices. A risk if Heaven or Hell found out. It was never supposed to be a risk if a bloody human mucked up and discorporated one of them.

He braced both hands on the tabletop, then grabbed his wine and took a large, fortifying drink. When he set it down, he still had no idea what to do with his hands. Aziraphale wrung them together, grip tight as if it could keep him steady as the waves of this realization rocked him. 

It didn't. "I can't believe- how _could_ you, Crowley?" he asked, distress palpable.

He spread his hands in a shrug. "Hell was chaos after the Fall. Immediate, total chaos. They'd- we'd just lost a war, lost our halos, everything reeked of sulfur and burning. Demons were _fighting_ over vessels. The least broken, the better. This," he gestured to himself, "is all I had left from being an angel. Etched my name right here where they could all bloody well see it and etched everybody else's in too." He held up his hand, thought about it, and symbol after symbol appeared on the back of his hand like a burn. One by one, they appeared and disappeared because he'd let each one melt into his skin before adding the next. "Nobody was getting me out and nobody was getting in."

That, Aziraphale could understand. The horrors of Hell were very real, no matter how much it played at being a bureaucracy. The few hours he'd spent in the dark, crowded halls, humid and oppressive with demonic presence had been unpleasant enough. Unnameable fluids dripped down the walls and the floor was sticky with something he couldn't see. The screams of the damned were muffled, humans kept in a different part of Hell, but the air was full of their suffering. He could only imagine what it had been like six thousand years before, when flames licked the very walls that were demanded to not be licked at all. When every fallen angel cried out for the grace that had been ripped from their very core. 

Of course Crowley would want to protect one thing that was his. Something he had left of himself while his whole identity burned away and was rewritten. Aziraphale couldn't say that he wouldn't do the same thing. His gaze lingered on the sigils carved on his body, over the hand he'd just been holding and he wanted to take it and cradle it between his own, erase the marks with his touch and erase the fear that anyone could just take him.

But he didn't. It wasn't the time. It would make no difference, and it certainly wouldn't put to rest the worries that had bubbled up like the boiling sea of the end of days. 

"But all the times you put yourself in danger-" Because of him. Because he'd been selfish. Because Aziraphale wanted an excuse to see him, an excuse to let Crowley play the hero, to do some good, without having to say it. Because it simply lit him up inside with the warmest ache to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows with a sigh and a snap. But if anything had gone wrong? " _Why?_ It wouldn't have been worth it!"

Every happy little gasp when he'd appear, every little glance, each little smile, every meal and bottle of whatever alcohol on hand shared, every excited rambling about whatever supposed prophet Aziraphale had befriended or summary of his current favorite book, every souvenir Crowley had displayed in his London flat. How could the angel say it hadn't been worth it? Every sarcastic barb, every jab at his demonic nature, every eye roll, every pout, every fight. It had _all_ been worth it. 

Six thousand years swirled in Crowley's eyes, not hidden by his glasses. Aziraphale was worth everything. "Don't you ever say that again."

Caught in his stare, Aziraphale gazed back helplessly, the torrent of all he was trying to process reflected in his eyes. "I would have come _back_. No other angel wanted my post, I- it would have been inconvenient, Crowley, but not forever."

But how much longer would it have taken for them to be on _their_ side? If he'd let Aziraphale get hauled off to executioner blocks or shot by Nazis or any manner of things. All the ways he'd gotten himself into trouble had lead to all the time they'd spent together _after_. Where would they be without all of that? 

A soft white wing, a little ruffled from stress, had shielded him from the rain. Such a pointless, _silly_ thing to do. But, at the time, it had been ages since he'd seen such a wing and never had he been offered shelter beneath one. He'd known he was with the best of Heaven, and he still was. Where would they be without the extras?

"You're too clever not to know why I always came to get you."

"And don't you know that I couldn't bear it if our association caused any sort of harm to come to you?" Aziraphale blinked quickly and looked away, feeling as though it might as well have been his name on the slip of paper Crowley had handed him in 1862. "Even if I couldn't say it… If I haven't made that clear, then I'm certainly not worth it. You're too important, Crowley." 

He didn't think Aziraphale understood just how worth it he was and especially not for how long. He stared at Aziraphale's hands for a moment, watching him twist the ring he'd worn as long as he'd known him. And then he reached out, covered those fidgeting hands, and stared at them instead of meeting the angel's gaze. "Shut up. You've made it clear, love. Stop bloody fretting. I wouldn't change a moment. No idiot human trying to hurt you is going to do anything to me. You'd never allow it even before you knew."

Aziraphale's gaze snapped back to him, flickering down and up a few times at their hands. While it wasn't uncommon for Crowley to let him hold his hand, only just starting to get more comfortable with it in the past couple of months, it certainly was never the other way around. Crowley showed his devotion in the lines of his body, in the way he circled Aziraphale as if his entire purpose in the galaxy was centered on the angel's pull. In the way he'd look at him, long and longingly and like it was enough just to be in each other's space. For a while it had been. If only the other was there, then that was enough for them. Throughout their six thousand years on Earth, they'd been each other's constants. No matter how humanity evolved or changed, they could always count on one another. Neither of them would've allowed anything to change that, if it came down to it. Not even before their side.

"I suppose I wouldn't change anything either," he confessed quietly, letting the demon take some comfort in his words. "Though it would've been nice to know. You know, before now."

"No, that's a change. And you had _better_ not start treating me like I'm some fragile... _thing_ now that you do. I'm still me. I'm still the one, out of the two of us, who's never gotten himself discorporated." His hand shifted, fingers curling loosely around Aziraphale's wrist. He'd never really reached out before, so he took a chance. He'd always been one to take chances. "I'm never going through what it felt like to lose you again, and I'm not about to force you. I've better things to do."

"Crowley…" Aziraphale softened on his sigh, a dreamy little thing, heart beating fast just so Crowley could feel his pulse flutter for him beneath his fingers. "Oh, dearest, I know you're anything but fragile," he assured him. "I can't say that I won't treat you as something precious, as that's what you are to me, but never fragile." He freed one hand so he could clasp it around Crowley's wrist in return. "There'll be no discorporations for either of us. You're right, there's no room for that on our side."

 _Precious_. The word was mortifying, unrepeatable. It made his heart do stupid things that Aziraphale could probably feel at his wrist, and he had to clear his throat to make sure that it hadn't, in fact, closed. "'Course not. We've got another Apocalypse to stop and, really, Cipher's not nearly as imaginative as he thinks he is if he's right back into dreams. He'll be easy enough."

"Well, I don't know if I'd say 'easy,' but very thwartable, yes." Aziraphale beamed at him, unable to do anything but adore this creature, as insufferable as he could be. "Shall we thwart him thwartingly, my dear?"

"Is there another way to thwart?" he wondered as his phone chimed in his pocket. 


	9. Chapter 9

"There's no food."

Wirt turned away from the corkboard he was studying to face his little brother. He stood in the doorway to the attic, lower lip set in a solemn frown and a pair of bright orange sunglasses perched on his face. At his feet, Jason Funderburker croaked in solidarity, also wearing sunglasses. Blinking to clear his head and accept that his brother had decided to be inspired by a demon, Wirt sighed and gave them his full attention.

"I guess it's about dinner time, huh? Is Grunkle Stan still napping?" Sleeping off the drunken stupor the demon Crowley had apparently goaded him into.

"No, he's up, but he's got a headache and told everyone to quit shining the light in his eyes like it's the Spanish Inquisition or something. What's the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Um. Nothing. It's something you'll learn about in history class in school. You'll think it's boring." Wirt flicked his gaze to Dipper, who'd turned in his computer chair to watch them.

"Oh. Gross." It did the trick, Greg immediately wrinkled his nose and grimaced. "Wirt, you know better than to talk about school during the summer. It's _summer_."

"I know, I know. Give us five minutes, Greg. Then we'll be down and Mabel and I can make some grilled cheese or something." While Stan and Ford Pines had been in charge of most of their meals while they'd been in Gravity Falls so far, there were times where the caregivers left the teens plus Greg to their own devices. Sometimes that was the safer option, in Wirt's opinion, with Stan's idea of dinner being frozen corn dogs, beans, and hot sauce, and Ford's idea of cooking seeing how long it would take a laser to roast a pork chop instead of using the oven.

Greg tsked and placed his hands on his hips. "Didn't you just hear me? There's no food."

Wirt frowned. "There's gotta be food, Greg."

"Well, I mean. There's some stuff like flour and half a tub of mayonnaise and beef jerky strips, but we're basically all out of food."

That's right. Grunkle Stan had been planning to go to the store that afternoon for the grocery run. "You kids are eating me out of house and home!" he'd groused that morning when they used the last of the butter on their pancakes, but he'd ruffled Greg's hair, so he hadn't minded all that much. Then a demon got him drunk and Stan passed out. It wasn't like Ford could be trusted to go to the store yet either. The twins still regaled Wirt and Greg with tales of how Ford bought two weeks' worth of spam, tomato paste, powdered milk, and freeze dried ice cream out of "habit."

"Right. Um… Okay, no food." Wirt rubbed the back of his neck.

"Jason Funderburker and I are hungry! Planning is thirsty work!"

"Yeah, I know." Wirt grabbed his satchel from where it was slumped on the floor by Dipper's bed and set it on the loveseat to rifle through for his wallet. "Where's Mabel? Maybe the two of us can go to the store real quick and pick some stuff up."

"Why can't we all go? I wanna go!" Greg hopped up onto Dipper's bed and bounced a little, beaming at the admiral before it clicked. "Oh, is it because of the barrier? That we shouldn't all go?"

"Um…"

Dipper sighed. He understood and appreciated what Wirt was doing, but he wasn't going to let Bill make him a prisoner. "We can all go get some groceries, Greg."

"Are you sure?" Wirt asked, not wanting to act like Bill had the upper hand either, but it was all still so new. They had no idea what he'd try next and how to retaliate whatever it was. "It's not like it's a big deal. Getting groceries."

"I know." Dipper put his computer to sleep and stood, smile easy. "I'm not trusting Mabel to pick out groceries, even with you there. She's a steamroller."

"I can… hold my own," Wirt huffed, but honestly had to give him that. Even if he wasn't a pushover, it was hard to stand firm in the face of Mabel's stubborn enthusiasm. "Okay, fair point. You're right. We can get takeout then. Bring something back."

Dipper grinned. They couldn't drive. "Where are we going to get takeout from in Gravity Falls, babe?" 

"Don't look at me like that. I'm sure Susan would be happy to put some diner food in a bag for you."

"Oh, I want diner food." Greg started to slide off the bed, melting his way down to the floor. "I want fries. Fries and relish." He blinked when the other two looked at him. "What? It's good."

"Yeah... We can go, then, but we still have to be there while they make it. Groceries would take the same amount of time."

"Yeah, so Mabel and I will go pick it up- or Greg and I, and-"

"Wirt, you're not gonna win this one." Greg hopped up and gave him a comforting pat, gazing up at him through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "I'll go get Mabel. Come on, Jason Funderburker! Food time!"

Wirt crossed his arms as Greg bumped him on his way out the door. "Well, it was worth a shot. But if your head starts hurting-"

"I'll tell you. And, I mean, even if I don't, you can usually tell. Especially since you're being a worry Wirt," he teased. 

Wirt's lips quirked up, but he still rolled his eyes and bumped Dipper's hip on their way out. "When we get back, we should have your great-uncle take a look at your sigil though… just in case."

"I know, we will." Dipper swung an arm around his waist, giving him a squeeze. "In the meantime, I can just do a small version on my hand? See if that changes anything. I just don't know... I mean, knowing Bill, if he sees it, will he not bother me just so I _think_ the problem's solved?" 

"Probably. But at least he's not bothering you in the moment. Buys us some time, at least." Wirt shrugged, though his lips twisted to one side as he thought. "Though I don't know how good of an option that is. I mean, that's what I was trying to do when I made the deal with him… Just trying to buy time until our message could get to you and Mabel, and look how well that turned out."

"No, come on. You kept him out of Greg in a big way. You saved him and I'm okay and you're okay. Everything turned out just fine, pilgrim."

"Yeah, except for the part where he's trying to start another Apocalypse." 

"Well... We'll be fine. Again. I bet they've - Aziraphale and Crowley - killed another demon before, so they're bound to have expertise we don't. You're the only one who's come close to doing that between us." Dipper stopped them, cupping Wirt's cheek. "Not that you're ever allowed to do _that_ again. And if he somehow gets back in my head..."

Wirt's hands lifted to cover Dipper's, keeping his touch and grounding himself with it. "Then we'll get him out again. We will."

"We absolutely will." He leaned forward for a light, sweet kiss. Even if they had to take the fight to the Mindscape. It was Dipper's second-to-last resort, the definitely last one being holy water. 

They drew a new sigil on the back of Dipper's hand in pen - regular pen, nothing like a permanent marker. For precaution's sake, the other three followed suit and added an additional ward. The fact that it was actually Bill's demonic name, if Crowley was to be believed, made Wirt's stomach turn. To think that what he had permanently on his thigh, what they all had, was actually more like a brand… Well, it didn't feel as if it was offering much protection anymore. It felt more like he'd marked them. They'd all been touched by Bill, and he wasn't going to let them forget it.

Sunset was still hours away as they walked into town. The angel was still likely going over all of the notes they'd copied for him, and they probably wouldn't hear from them until the next day. Unless time didn't mean anything to them, what with them being immortal and over six thousand years old. Maybe they'd show up on their doorstep at two in the morning ready to smite a demon. Weren't angels supposed to be able to smite demons? Maybe this one didn't because it might offend his demon… partner.

Surely Bill could be an exception.

"Would it take too long if we ate at the diner?" Greg asked, still wearing his cool shades as he balanced on the edge of the sidewalk. "We could spy on people, see if Bill's up to no good with the rest of the town."

Or if other demons had indeed shown up, Dipper thought. "We can. Or we save it for tomorrow. We'll need breakfast in the morning."

Mabel patted her stomach. "Or we go twice. Dinner, breakfast, let Grunkle Stan do the grocery shopping." She and Dipper exchanged matching looks and matching grins. "Well, no, we'll just let Grunkle Stan's card do the shopping. We'll do the selecting."

"Can we buy waffles?" Greg gasped, spinning around so he could walk backwards, facing the teens. "Stuff to make waffles? Waffles for dinner!"

"You can do that tonight at the diner, Greg," Wirt pointed out.

"Oh yeah! Can we still make waffles at home, too?"

Mabel laughed. "Absolutely. You can't have too many waffles."

"In a row, you can."

"Lies," she replied playfully, grinning at her twin. 

Smiling, he dipped his hands into his pockets while they waited for the walk signal. Not because they had to, but because they were good examples for Greg. The new ink smudged. Dipper's headache didn't return, nor did the sense of being bothered. What slipped in didn't want to torment. 

Yet. 

"So we'll go to the diner, but then we're still going grocery shopping. We can at least get something for breakfast," he offered, willing to compromise with his stressed boyfriend. "It'll be quick."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Wirt agreed, slipping his arm in between the crook of Dipper's elbow and his side. "One less thing to worry about in the morning."

"Do you think angels and demons like waffles?" Greg asked. "Crowley looks like the kinda guy that would appreciate a good waffle."

"I... don't know if they eat," Mabel mused. She knew he drank but that seemed like it had possibly just been done to distract Grunkle Stan and to be polite when they'd offered. Except Crowley had a specific way of taking his tea. "Maybe they do."

Dipper shrugged. Bill didn't eat. He'd had no idea what to do with food. "We can ask next time we see them, shortstop."

"Okay, sounds like a plan. I hope they can, because it'd be pretty sad if you lived forever and didn't ever get to eat anything," he hummed, still walking backwards for the next few steps after they made it across the crosswalk. "There's someone looking at us funny."

Wirt stumbled, using Dipper for balance so he didn't go sprawling across the sidewalk. "What- what do you mean?"

"I mean there's a weird guy that's been looking at us the whole time I've been walking backwards," Greg replied, keeping his voice low-ish. "I've never seen him before."

Dipper's mouth opened to say it was probably nothing, but that would be suspicious. "Mabel, think you can get a picture?" 

"Absolutely. I'd love to get a picture of me and Greg. Always." She swept him up to her shoulders, also walking backwards. But her phone's camera didn't go to selfie mode. 

The man was _definitely_ looking at them. His eyes were black, which didn't really seem... normal. Not even by Gravity Falls's standards. She snapped the picture and whirled back around to show their brothers. 

"What do you think?" 

His trenchcoat was burned at the bottom with the cuffs of his pants and his shoes very charred. That, his eyes, and what looked like a _frog_ under his thin hair seemed very suspicious. The fact that Mabel had captured him picking his nose was just gross.

"Send it," Dipper murmured and abruptly turned, holding onto Wirt's waist so he wouldn't fall, and lead the way into the headquarters for the Gravity Falls Gossiper. No one important was ever there. Just Toby Determined. 

Mabel set Greg down and quickly sent the picture to Crowley, hoping he would indeed get it. _Mabel here_ , the message read. _Demony kinda guy following us._

In Northwest Manor, Crowley let go of Arizaphale's wrist to take his phone out of his pocket. Golden eyes glinted angrily, a growled " _Hastur_!" nearly echoing in the dining room. 

"What? He's calling you?" Aziraphale gasped. "Why?" 

Crowley looked up at him in unimpressed disbelief. " _No_. The girl one just sent me his picture. He's following them."

Eyes wide, Aziraphale gasped again and hastily folded up his napkin. "Why didn't you say so? We must go stop him at once!"

Crowley leaned back in his chair, hands spread. _Obviously_. "I said it pretty much immediately."

Aziraphale stood and snapped, their crêpes and wine safely tucked away in the fridge where they would be perfectly preserved and go untouched until they were ready to finish their meal. "Nevermind that, Crowley. We have children to save. Tally-ho!"

He slipped his sunglasses back on, but Aziraphale knew he rolled his eyes. "'Tally-ho,'" he muttered, sending a text back without typing. 

Though staying where they were was already Mabel's plan, she thought when she read it, and the other three seemed to be in agreement. "They're coming," she whispered. 

Dipper peeked out from behind the desk they'd hidden themselves beneath, watching Hastur stomp through the small space. There was something familiar about him, but it faded every time he tried to focus. "Good," he murmured. "If he heads to the back, we can get out of here."

Wirt's fingers dug into Greg's shoulders, grip tight in his t-shirt as he kept him pressed against him with no chance of him wandering off. Not that Greg wanted to get any closer to that creepy guy. Even after picking his nose, he was still sniffling like it hadn't helped at all. Just plain gross, in Greg's opinion. Sure boogers were funny sometimes, but even the eight-year-old had standards.

"I know you're in here. Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Hastur growled, overturning a wastebasket by a desk with his foot, as if a child could've been hiding in it, but only scraps of paper tumbled out. "Bloody brats."

As he drew closer to the desk they were hiding behind, Dipper tried to find something he could throw. Something that would distract him into going the other way because, gross or not, he had nothing to fight a demon off with. He hadn't had a chance to grab any holy water and really didn't know what to do here besides run. What else could possibly hurt a demon? Why couldn't he _think_? 

As he closed his fingers around a pair of scissors, they all heard a sound, like a mixture of ruffled feathers and crackling flame and shimmering light. 

And then a growling, "Hello, Hassstur," rippled through the air. "Been a while."

" _Crowley_ ," Hastur sneered, turning to face the traitor - and his traitorous angel, too. "Not long enough. Not after what you did."

"What, discorporating you in my car? Or was it the Ligur thing?" Crowley shook his head, wagging a finger as if scolding a child. He'd gotten pretty good at it, in his opinion, being a nanny and all. "Now, now, Hastur, demons shouldn't mourn demons. What would Hell become?" 

"Decent, perhaps," Aziraphale offered. 

Crowley gave a little shrug, the threat of a smile shifting to a smirk. "And what would that do to Heavenly propaganda? Good versus evil has a better ring to it than good versus _decent_."

Hastur barely suppressed a shudder, revolted by the implication, and slipped his grimy hands into the pockets of his equally grimy coat. "No. It's everything. Turning _decent_ yourself. Above all the rest of us, is that what you think? Too _good_ for war. Too good for the bloodshed and eternal torment and tearing off the pretty white wings of those wankers Above. You're a disgrace."

"Well, war never was my first choice in things." He tucked his thumbs in his pockets, more used to probing for human presences - and their nastier emotions - than Hastur could ever be. He felt the four of them behind the desk, so gave Aziraphale the minutest tap and a little gesture towards that sense of fear when he adjusted his glasses. "And nobody ever said I wasn't above ripping up a few wings. I can think of a few Archangels and a few demons who might deserve it, but I've just got better things to do than bother, really. Not surprised that you don't."

"No, I'd say I have something better as well." Hastur's eyes narrowed as he watched the angel circle to Crowley's other side, closer to the desk, with his hands clasped behind his back, possibly hiding holy water of all things. 

He had to strike first, before either of them could try anything. From within his pocket, Hastur pulled out what looked like a lighter. Innocuous and unnecessary, demons could summon fire from their fingertips or with a blink of an eye, a bolt of lightning.

When he flicked it open, flames already danced in the air without the striker wheel even needing to spin. Angry, unholy fire that could only come from the depths of Hell itself. While holding Crowley's stare, he exhaled a wheezy sort of chuckle, then he tossed the entire lighter into the papers that had spilled from the overturned wastebasket. They ignited in a flash, the unearthly fire devouring the scraps of paper in a blink before greedily spreading to the carpet fibers and up the side of the desk.

The four kids scrambled away from it, their hiding place literally going up in flames. Aziraphale, being closer, was by their side in an instant, herding them away from the fire already climbing the walls. As Wirt and Greg overbalanced, slipping on the worn, dingy carpet, he helped to right them, pushing them towards the door.

The thing inside Dipper saw sweat bead on the angel's brow, saw his chest halt its rhythmic inhalations, a habit that would only end him with these fumes if he was truly _just_ an angel. He also saw Crowley when he looked back, hands lifted and unseeable energy keeping every bit of the wild flame as far away as he could. 

Excitement raced through him, and he made Dipper stumble. And then scramble back, away from the safety of his group when a streak of unholy flame zipped across the carpet. "I'll get him!" Crowley snapped. "Get out!" 

"Dipper!" Wirt shouted, stopped from going after him by the angel's arm, tight and firm across his chest.

Crackling fire spat at them and they flinched back, Aziraphale whirling them about and grabbed onto the smallest one's hand as he nudged them on. "Crowley's got him, go!" he ordered, making sure to catch Mabel's gaze, too, the holy light swirling in his eyes leaving no room for argument.

He could feel its heat all the way through his corporation and into his grace, the fire fueled by vengeance and fury as it consumed everything in its path. This little building wouldn't contain it for long. Hot, fiery tendrils spidered across the ceiling, cracking open the plaster and charring every wooden beam black as the smoke that filled the room with a thick haze. Aziraphale used his handkerchief to cover Greg's mouth, picking him up as the fire converged on them, Hastur's crazed cackling urging it on. 

A thin path parted the flames and smoke, just wide enough for a human body to find the door and escape. Mabel went first and Wirt followed, both hugging their arms close to their bodies to keep their sweaters from catching fire. Aziraphale minded his coat with one hand, flames snapping at his heels as he quickly made his own way out, and the fire around him practically hissed with the displeasure that it was _not to touch him_.

Crowley kept a path open for them by sheer will, Dipper a cocooned afterthought. If he'd been paying a little more attention, he would've seen the scissors Dipper had grabbed sink into his thigh. He would've noticed brown eyes go red and then a wild gold. The satisfied smile as a teeny tiny snap stopped the blood, scarred the tattoo, and stitched the shorts. The scratch Hastur had delivered had been fine, but it hadn't been enough. He didn't want a hint of the barrier, didn't want to risk such a simple way to ruin his plans. The sigil needed to be _destroyed_. 

But, for now, Bill was satisfied enough to slip out and leave just before Crowley snatched the teen's wrist. "For fuck's sake," he muttered, and Dipper blinked watering eyes as he was hauled up. "Thought you were supposed to be the fucking important one. Hastur's a bleedin' idiot. He'll be lucky to make it out of here with his corporation intact."

"Go for it," Dipper managed, earning a glittering kind of smile before he was pushed out the front door. Crowley turned to go back inside, bellowing Hastur's name while the teen coughed on the pavement and sirens blared in the distance from an underused fire department. 

With Greg safely in the angel's grasp, Wirt and Mabel flanked Dipper to ease him down on the edge of the curb. "Are you okay?" Wirt rubbed his back to soothe the way his chest hitched and heaved through each breath.

"Here, let me-" Aziraphale snapped, wrist flicking in a downward motion, but nothing happened. He seemed to realize it instantly. "Oh, of course. Doesn't have any affect…"

"What doesn't?" Mabel wondered. "Your magic? Why not?" 

"Well, it's not exactly magic, you see. It's more of a- a blessing. A miracle," he elaborated, gaze nervously darting past the children as the roof of the building began to creak and groan under the roar of the fire. 

He could at least miracle more supports in the building, to keep it from coming down on top of Crowley. Inside the building, said demon walked right into a wooden post that hadn't been there a second before and cursed the angel. 

"It's- there are limits, you see. To what it can heal." His attention was drawn away as Greg coughed a few times, too, all four of having inhaled at least some of the infernal smoke.

As he considered at least getting them some water, the fire department arrived and fixed their hoses to a nearby hydrant. Before they could engage the water, the door smacked open. Between the heat and the stupid post, Crowley's glasses were splintered and his clothes smouldered where flame had dared touch him. There was a beat where he just stared at the firefighters and they stared back at a person who did not look like he should just be able to stand in the doorway of a building fully engulfed in flame. 

And then he sauntered across the sidewalk and let the humans do their job. He'd at least contained the blaze to only that building, the burnt lighter held in his grip. He scanned the kids quickly and looked up at Aziraphale as if fury and fear weren't an ugly tangle. "Alright, angel?" 

"Tickety-boo, my dear." Aziraphale reached out, but hesitated as he skimmed over the clothing that had been singed by Hellfire. He made an aborted gesture that looked more like his nervous fluttering, as if to wave off the concern. "Tip-top, yes. But the, ah- the children. I'm afraid I can't do much for them, but perhaps, if you had it in you…"

"To _heal_ Hellfire?" Healing wasn't exactly in a demon's wheelhouse, not when it went beyond themselves, and Hellfire wasn't exactly a problem they had to solve so much as theirs to cause. 

Big blue eyes pleaded with him, though, so his rolled behind his broken glasses and he focused on plucking a very unique miracle from Hell. Four gasps followed his snap, lungs and throats clearing of inhaled toxins. And, for two of them, some lingering damage from nearly drowning in a lake. "Fine. There. Good as new."

"Oh, thank you, Crowley. Very-" He stopped just short of saying "kind" or "good" or any other word that might make the demon want to crawl right out of his skin. "Yes, um. Excellent work. Very well thwarted. Certainly showed that Hastur. Did you find him?" 

The lighter crunched into dust in his hold. "No. Probably went back to Hell."

"Through the floor?" Dipper asked, fingers laced with Wirt's to soothe and support now that they all seemed to be breathing better.

"It's not an ideal way to get in, but yeah. It'll do in a pinch."

With the immediate dangers abated for now, and the firefighters combating the blaze, Aziraphale could spare the attention to attend to the demon. He miracled a new pair of sunglasses into being, plucked from the glove compartment of the Bentley. "Are you alright, Crowley?" he asked as he handed them to him. 

"It was just Hellfire," he muttered, the broken glasses vanishing and the humans tensing in the seconds the serpentine eyes were revealed. Crowley pushed the fresh ones on and grabbed his jacket lapels. With a tug, he straightened the blazer and fixed the burnt threads. "It'll take more than that to be an issue. Like bloody posts popping out right where I'm about to step. I was _watching_ the damned roof."

"An extra precaution never hurt anyone," Aziraphale tutted, rolling his eyes at the dramatics, despite the fact that in this case, the precaution _had_. "You're no worse for the wear." He followed through this time, reaching out to brush off the shoulders of Crowley's newly cleaned blazer, completely unnecessarily in terms of removing dust, but something to settle the rattled nerves only an inferno of Hellfire could likely inspire. "Tickety-boo," he added, just to irritate him.

It worked, but less than his scowl suggested. The unusual touch settled more than just Aziraphale. This was entirely different than the burning bookshop he'd vainly sought through for any sign of his angel. He'd been there for him this time, for a start, able to hold the deadly Hellfire at bay. "'Tickety-boo,'" he muttered. "S'nonsense."

"Mr. Crowley, who was that?" Greg asked, tucking Jason Funderburker safely under one arm. "Is he working with Bill?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere less… open." Aziraphale quickly scanned their surroundings, much of the town gathering to gawk at the damage. A strange, gremlin of a man dropped his coffee cup and spilled the entire contents in the street as he stared at the building. Aziraphale kept one eye on him. "Look, more demons are coming."

The twins swiveled their heads, sighing in unison. "That's just Toby Determined," Mabel assured him. 

"Lowkey, are we glad he wasn't in there or...?" Dipper wondered, grin wry. It made Mabel fall into giggles. 

"Oh my gosh, stop it." Wirt kicked at him gently. "He just lost his whole business."

Aziraphale gave the man another good look, gaze narrowed, but took their word for it. "This was his building? Oh, how unfortunate." If the structure wasn't too badly damaged once the fire was out, he'd see about lending a hand to return it to its proper condition, with newer carpet perhaps.

Crowley didn't bother swallowing his amusement. "That's a word for him," he joked, sending the twins and Greg into a fresh fit of laughter. 

"But we seriously should get out of here," Dipper managed to agree, looping an arm around Wirt's waist. "I want to know what the heck just happened."

It was easier said than done, though. With townspeople came questions and everyone knew to aim them at Dipper. He was, as Mabel had told Aziraphale just that morning, the paranormal expert and he had no qualms saying "just an evil Hellfire" as blunt as can be. And, without any interference from angel or demon, the town accepted it. Before they turned a corner, someone was starting a collection to rebuild and someone else offering to let Toby borrow an old typewriter so he could continue his newspaper as normal. 

On the condition that he continue writing in the burnt remains of his building and not actually come into the rest of the town, of course. This was solidly agreed upon by Gravity Falls residents. 

Crowley tucked his hands in his pockets, letting his elbow bump the angel's. "Whole town's bonkers," he said quietly. "Any street in London, we'd have to erase this."

"It's astonishing, really," Aziraphale murmured back, hand over his corporation's heart as the goodwill the townspeople evoked thrummed through his being. "And remarkable. Even living under Hell's influence all these years, humanity prevails. A bit odd, yes, but odd and very much human, all the same."

"Hell's influence isn't what they think it is anyway."

"No, I suppose it isn't." Aziraphale looked back towards the building as they left it behind. "Crowley, why did he bring Hellfire? Could Hell suspect already? Or think because you're immune to holy water that you'd be sensitive to Hellfire instead?"

"Eh... Possibly. The second thing, anyway." Assuming Hell had reacted similarly to Heaven. "Or, assuming the small one's right, they are working together and Cipher wanted proof. I didn't feel him anywhere until I grabbed the kid, but..."

"You felt him when you grabbed young Dipper?"

"Little bit. Didn't have much time to study him, did I?" He shrugged, mind a flurry of activity beneath the nonchalant move. "It's either a piece inside him or Cipher snuck in. We'll know if he goes through the barrier or asks someone else to break it first."

"Oh… oh dear." Aziraphale wrung his hands together, his train of thought written in the lines of his face as he kept pace with Crowley. "Then as soon as we get there, I should go in and check. Like we discussed earlier. Oh, but if Cipher is inside him, could a demon and a human _and_ an angel all share the same vessel at the same time? It's unheard of." Which didn't make it impossible, of course, but that didn't make it less of a risk.

"I'll check if I can get a hand on him again. Can't ruddy tell from here, which I _really_ don't like. I knew when I saw you in Madame Tracy immediately, but you weren't burrowed into her mind like a leech either." Not to mention he'd always been able to feel Aziraphale. "If it's just a piece, you goin' in should be fine. If it's the whole damn demon, we'll trap them in the house until we figure out what to do."

"But what if he tries to hurt the boy? To sway our hand?" Aziraphale shook his head, mind racing too many steps ahead until he reeled himself back. "I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. First things first is getting somewhere safe."

Up ahead of them, Greg was tugging on Mabel's sweater sleeve. "I know we gotta go back, but I'm still hungry. We still don't have any food."

"I know, baby. I'm hungry too." She squeezed his hand, smiling down at his sunglasses. "Maybe... Mm..." Well, telling the truth had gotten her this far, so she whirled to walk backwards and interrupted their conversation. "Hey, so, we were heading to get dinner and some groceries before we saw that Hastur guy. We're out of food at home."

Crowley turned his gaze on her, the sunglasses revealing nothing. "And?"

Aziraphale was at least, as predicted, more understanding. "No food? Well, that won't do at all. What do you like? I can miracle something up for when we return to the house." Not actually miracled food, of course. While in the kitchen with the Northwest's chef, he'd gotten a good glimpse of what they had in stock. Surely they wouldn't miss a few ingredients here and there.

Greg spun around to face them and his face lit up. "French fries!"

"French fries, ah yes… American chips. Excellent choice, young Gregory."

Mabel ruffled his hair on a laugh. "I thought you wanted waffles."

"Oh, yeah. And waffles," he giggled. "I like to have choices."

"I completely understand. Choices are what make you human." Charmed by him, Aziraphale smiled and leaned forward, cupping his hand around his mouth as if sharing a secret. "I don't see why we can't have both."

Greg grinned at him, giving him a thumbs up. "I like your style."

"Oh! Did you hear that, Crowley?" Wiggling happily, Aziraphale turned to the demon. "He said I have style."

"It's a figure of speech. And if it's not, it's 'cause he hangs 'round this one too much." He gestured at Mabel, ignoring his own amusement when she grinned. "She's the one who said she likes your tartan collar."

"Because tartan is stylish. And from her handmade clothing I would say she clearly has an eye for fashion. It takes talent and vision to create fine, wearable garments."

"Now you've done it," Crowley complained, Mabel's eyes widening in absolute delight. "Now she'll want you to adopt her."

She actually just wanted to make him a sweater. Something tartan, definitely, even though she didn't necessarily think he'd wear it. Except maybe he would? London got cold. Did angels get cold? Didn't matter. She was making him something. "No, but thanks! I love knitting. I make sweaters for all the people I love even if they don't wear them."

Dipper glanced back at her raised voice, waving a hand. "I wear them when it's not eighty degrees out."

"That doesn't stop Wirt." She sighed dramatically, patting her heart. "He loves me more than my own twin."

"Probably," he teased and she stuck her tongue out at him. 

"Absolutely," Wirt confirmed, fighting back his own grin. 

Crowley sincerely hoped this whole Apocalypse went quickly. He didn't know how much longer he could stand being surrounded by a bunch of light-leaning humans. At least he understood Aziraphale. This was just... torture. He was tempted to scare them just for some bloody variety. 

But then, they _were_ pleasing to his angel. He huffed softly, the faintest of hisses escaping. Being better than Hell was such a pain in the arse sometimes. He'd just have to have some wicked fun when they went back home after this. Something similar to what he'd done with Preston Northwest but less... approved. 

"Right. Anyway, angel, if you're going to whisk over a meal for them, you may as well get your crêpes while you're at it. Dunno when we'll get back to the manor at this rate."

"Of course, my dear. I'll bring our wine, too. It would be a shame to let the rest of the bottle go to waste."

With a snap, their leftovers vanished from where they'd been tucked away in the Northwest's kitchen, and magically appeared on the kitchen counter right in front of Stan Pines as he was reaching for a glass of water to take his aspirin with. He stared at the crêpes for a second, then downed both pills and walked away. At the same time, the fridge also filled with potatoes, eggs, the rest of the duck that wasn't used for Crowley's crêpe, and a slew of other ingredients that they could surely use to concoct some kind of supper. 

And the wine, of course.

"There, that should do it." Aziraphale couldn't see the results of his work, but he had a feeling it had worked out splendidly. 

Thankfully for the four hungry humans, it had. Mabel and Wirt were able to whip up waffles and the potatoes cut themselves into fry shapes almost before the two had finished wondering aloud just how they were going to manage it. It was nice having magic around - or miracles, rather. Same thing. 

Dipper's contribution was Wirt's tea and stories on why exactly he wasn't trusted with anything but the kettle. It was probably the same level of expertise Crowley would have if he ever decided to try his hand at cooking sans miracles. He still snickered. Kid was lucky he hadn't burned his house down yet. 

He hadn't yet figured out how to keep him in place long enough to touch him somehow and rifle through his mind. Not only was Crowley not one to reach out to people, Dipper wasn't exactly trusting. He had gone through the barrier with no problems, though, briefly lifting it and putting it right back in place after Crowley had gotten in. A frustrating process all around, but obviously no one was as displeased as the demon. His saving grace - ew, no. His hail Mary? Worse. Whatever. His angel could get him out even if these kids somehow failed to do so and that's all that mattered. 

"Okay, Greg, you and Jason Funderburker let Waddles rest and come eat," Mabel said as she placed a plate in front of her very happy pig and then she ruffled the boy's hair. "The fries are gonna take a little longer, but waffles are done."

"And you're going to eat some of the carrots and broccoli we just steamed," Wirt added, glancing over his shoulder at him as the kid went skidding over to the kitchen table, still sporting his cool shades. "Doesn't have to be with the waffles, because that just sounds weird, but at least with the fries."

"Aw beans." Greg snapped, shaking his head, but then whispered to his trusty frog. "Don't worry, Jason Funderburker. We're not eating any vegetables if we don't have to. I've got a plan." While Wirt missed this aside, the angel, demon, and Dipper didn't, though no one was preparing to stop him, whatever the plan might be. "How come you guys aren't eating yet?" Greg asked as he sat next to Aziraphale and pointed at the angel's plate - well, plates, given that Crowley's was very close to his as well.

"Oh, well, it's not polite to eat before everyone else is ready. Especially not in someone else's home without prior permission."

"Oh." Greg picked up his fork and took a bite of his waffles.

Dipper shook his head and rose to get Wirt to stop fussing and take a seat. "Come on, babe. No one's embarrassed by Greg. We're missing an important key here."

"Who said anything about being embarrassed by him? He just can't live off a dinner of just carbs, he'll crash and get grumpy," Wirt complained as he was herded over.

"Like you?" Greg giggled, drowning his stack of waffles in syrup.

Wirt shot him an unimpressed look, but sat down nonetheless and took a long sip of his tea. The contact with another demon and the fire had rattled them all in different ways, at least that was what he assumed. Though Dipper had been strangely calmer than Wirt expected afterwards, they also had their newfound allies with them, and it wouldn't do to be panicking in front of two immortal beings trying to help them. Aziraphale had brought over the binder with their notes on Bill as well, already having studied it thoroughly with Crowley. Perhaps they'd drawn some conclusions and had more of an idea of what they were up against.

Dipper certainly hoped so, though wasn't sure about starting the talk when either grunkle could wander in whenever they wanted to. Even though they actually couldn't as anyone who wandered in would, much like at the manor, be turned away. None of the humans at the table knew that. But it was also important. 

"So... That guy. Hastur? He could be working with Bill?" 

"It's possible," Crowley admitted with a shrug, sprawled back in his chair with a wine glass in hand. "He's a Duke of Hell, so not normally one to hang 'round demons beneath his station."

"But he was rather upset when the last Apocalypse didn't go according to the Great Plan, but the Ineffable Plan. He thought himself rather important when it came to helping the Antichrist come into his power. Trust me, he had a very long list of complaints." Crowley's trial in Hell had been mostly Hastur whinging, even Beelzebub had seemed about ready to throw him in the holy water with him. "Last I saw of him, he was still ready for a fight. Just didn't think it would come so quickly."

"Well, it's been a year," Mabel pointed out. 

"They're also thousands of years old, Mabel. A year's like... an hour."

Crowley tipped his glass in Dipper's direction. "Sometimes, yeah. But this is really fast for Hell and Cipher was cast out. He's not on Hell's payroll and if anybody is working alongside him, it'd have to be discreet. Or Hell's version of discreet, which really isn't at all."

Wirt's brow furrowed as he thought. "So does that mean… Hell actually knows? If a Duke of Hell is involved even if Bill was exiled?"

"Well, I don't believe Hastur could recognize subtlety if it hit him with a brick." Aziraphale sipped at his wine. "So, it's quite possible."

Crowley sighed almost happily. "I'd _love_ to hit him with a brick. Several. A whole building, maybe. But he's right. Hiding anything from Hell is nearly impossible, especially as technology's evolved. You have to know what you're doing, and Hastur's a company man. Cipher was cast out because he tried to start an unauthorized Apocalypse here four years ago. Before that, he was already on thin ice because of his dimension hopping. Lost his original body to it, which is why he needs a compatible host. Because of everything Cipher's done here, this whole town has been under Hellish quarantine. No demons allowed. So if Hastur's here, he has unofficial permission. The only reason I can think for him to have it is him helping Cipher restart his version of Armageddon."

Dipper hummed, fork tapping his plate until a subtle wave of Aziraphale's finger stopped that. He didn't even notice. "Bill doesn't really want to blow the world up or anything. He just wants to turn it into his own playground. It's all a game."

"That'd be a slap in God's face," Crowley mused. "He used to be one of Her favorites. Now he's not even Satan's."

Wirt picked at his waffle, mind whirling. "I can't even imagine Bill as an angel, let alone one of God's favorites."

"I thought God was a guy." Greg studied the angel and demon through his sunglasses.

"God doesn't have a gender, Greg. God's… God, right?"

"Precisely. Though the Almighty understands the need for pronouns and supposedly was rather taken with She and Her. Humans got that bit wrong, I'm afraid." Aziraphale didn't linger too long on the topic though, raising an eyebrow at Crowley. "You didn't mention he was one of Her favorites. Just that he was the angel of dreams."

"Does it really matter now, Aziraphale? He's a bloody demon."

"Wait, angel of dreams?" Dipper repeated. 

Crowley gestured with his wine glass, annoyed with all of them, himself, and God. Normal. "Yes, yes. We don't dream - angels and demons. Didn't come wired for it because we were just supposed to work and be happy about it." He hated thinking about before the Fall and especially hated talking about it. He didn't actually think he ever had besides the occasional brag. "Humans were supposed to be different and it was all God talked about for ages, how special you all were going to be. 

"So somewhere or other, Cipher gets the idea to give them something to do in sleep. He suggested splitting their souls into two parts - consciousness and subconsciousness - and them essentially having movies in their head. Almighty _loved_ it. Pulled him right into Her inner circle with Lucifer and Gabriel and some of the others. Anybody who promised to do something really special for humans." Himself, he remembered, talking to his wine glass instead of them. 

"He got really into the whole thing. Symbolism and color codes and he'd prattle on and on. Most annoying gobshite you've ever met and then he, y'know, mucked it up. Lucifer decides it's time to rebel, Cipher tacks nightmares into all his dream talk, and there you have it. He was one of the first after the dukes to fall."

Aziraphale set his wine down, hands falling to his lap as he felt a dull, throbbing ache deeper than skin and muscles knotted together. Of course Crowley didn't like talking about before; he couldn't imagine any angel who would be able to do so without feeling some kind of loss. A gaping emptiness where God's love and grace had once flowed through their essence like thousands of tiny cells inside the human body. The thing all angels thought kept them existing, gave them purpose and meaning. Though Aziraphale still forsook Heaven, his purpose was still tied inextricably with God. He believed he was still acting according to Her wishes, somehow. He still held onto the hope that there was meaning in everything.

If he didn't have that… well, he supposed, he'd at least have Crowley. 

"Well, that explains why he's so good at what he does," Wirt murmured, drawing the angel back out of his head. "Twisting our perception of what's real and what's not. He… he literally helped _design_ humans." 

He swallowed, arms wrapping around his chest, hugging it when it felt like it wanted to shake apart with this knowledge and strip any sense that Bill had anything to do with how humanity had been created even when Dipper laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He didn't know where he stood on creationism and evolution theories, but had been pretty content to take bits and pieces from both. Now he was wishing they'd just evolved from monkeys or crawled out of the sea or whatever.

"Humanity was God's design. All angels assisted to some degree," Aziraphale replied, inserting some softness to his tone. "Cipher can't be credited with more than any other angel." Except possibly himself, created to protect humanity rather than help prepare the world for them.

"Besides, humans have pretty much changed everything. You've taken his weak ideas and grown them, haven't you?" Crowley shrugged, empty wine glass refilling and the wine bottle draining an equal amount. "Added some punch, turned them into reality when you can. You've cracked his stupid little codes of colors and symbolism and all that. Sure, he knows how to navigate, but that's all he's doing. _Still_. Six thousand years and he hasn't moved on."

"Sounds like he's got a lot of baggage," Greg hummed. "Why's he gotta keep bugging us just 'cause he can't get over how awesome we are?"

Mabel giggled. "Maybe... Maybe he's just boring or more unimaginative than he lets on." She looked at Aziraphale. "What did you think about him? Before demons happened."

"Oh… well, I- I never met him." 

Crowley could feel curiosity bubbling, more questions forming and about to spill over, so he cut them off. "God did what She's always done and didn't tell anyone the full plan. Special angels missed the Fall entirely, came into being after to keep your lot safe from mine. You're all just lucky Aziraphale here listens better than I do."

"Well, Heaven would disagree with you." Aziraphale cut into the crêpe Crowley had abandoned long before, giving in to taste it. It was still at a perfectly warm temperature. "But God's plan is ineffable, my dear. Who's to say you're not doing exactly as you're supposed to."

"Ngk."

"What's 'ineffable?'" Greg asked.

"Basically 'beyond words,'" Wirt told him, earning a bright smile from the angel.

"Precisely. And in regards to the Almighty, it means Her plan is beyond our understanding. Unwritten."

"Oh." Greg considered that for a minute. "But why would God want demons in Her plan? I thought She wanted everything to be nice and good."

"That's where it gets a bit tricky, you see. Humanity was created to have free will, to be able to choose. How would you be able to make choices if everything were nice and good all the time?" There was a bit of a twinkle in the angel's eyes as Greg listened attentively, even with the sunglasses shielding his curious eyes. "But it's tricky in the sense that if demons were planned, well, why did it have to happen the way that it did? But again, that is the unknowable nature of God's plan."

"Eh..." Crowley wiggled a hand. "Makes a bit of sense to me."

"Violence begets violence," Dipper guessed, nodding at Crowley's accepting wave. "Then why are you on Aziraphale's side? If Hastur's a Duke, he fell immediately, Bill fell right after... Where were you?" 

He didn't answer right away, features pinched. Fucking kids. "It- Last," he finally muttered, very much not looking at Aziraphale. "Took my time with it."

"Crowley wasn't a Duke. The wily Serpent of Eden, yes, but I'm sure some of those… closer to Lucifer were cast out more quickly than others." Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, a gentle swell of fondness surging up for the demon. "And we're on the same side because we've been stationed here on Earth for six thousand years. We watched and guided humanity where we were needed, and over time, I suppose… well, no one else knew what it was like for the two of us except us, and… it was only a matter of time, you see-"

"And you fell in love!" Greg chirped.

"Ah…" Aziraphale cut himself off, his corporation's throat refusing to cooperate. "I'm an angel. I love- all God's creations. Yes. I am a being of love. And I- I spend a lot of time with Crowley, so of course..." He was just going to stop there. That was for the best. His corporation was already blushing, he could feel the heat in his cheeks before he thought to will it away.

Crowley had to set his wine down or risk choking on it. It was too close to the chat they'd had at the manor, but the _child_ had actually used the word. For- for somebody's sake. He never should've let Aziraphale get a look at the Infernal Times and especially shouldn't have booked the fucking flight. If humanity wanted to end, it could. Right then and there so Crowley would never have to hear something that had been only been alive for _eight years_ easily use a word he'd never even allowed to fully form in his own head. 

Yup. They could all die, especially when Mabel whispered, "Greg, they haven't said it yet. They're slow like Wirt." 

" _Ngk_."

"Oh. But they're six thousand years old." Greg frowned. "That's a really long time-"

"Greg, shh." Wirt held his finger to his lips and while the kid rolled his eyes, it wasn't like anyone could see that he had and he quieted down all the same. "Sorry, he's… I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright. An innocent observation." Aziraphale fiddled with his napkin, his smile a bit strained, but still attempting to retain some sense of decorum. "No harm done."

In Crowley's opinion, plenty of harm had been done. He struggled desperately to think of _anything_ besides feelings, though knew it'd be stewing in the back of his mind for a while. Being of love? Bollocks. Being of-

Oh, _no_ , the word was in his mind now. He hated these kids. He pointed at Dipper. "You. I need to look in your head."

It was so abrupt, it took him a second to respond. "I- What?" 

"When I tossed you onto the sidewalk, I felt Cipher. Dunno why, so I need to look in your head." Thank Go- Sa- _somebody_ that that announcement got an appropriate amount of fear into the room. That was a four letter word he could handle. "If there's a piece in you, we'll have to yank it out."

"How?" Mabel asked, though she didn't seem to have the proper amount of fear yet. She seemed more like she knew exactly why he'd so abruptly returned the subject to their common enemy. Maybe he'd turn her knitting needles into noodles. 

"One of us-" There was no reason to let the children or anyone else know that Crowley was tied to his corporation, Aziraphale reasoned as he explained, "-would enter your mind, with your permission, and feel for any traces of influence Cipher might have tucked away. Then we'd seize that piece and pluck it right out. Shouldn't feel a thing- well, maybe a bit like pins and needles in the arm when you have issues with circulation, but nothing more damaging than that. I'm happy to volunteer if you'd be more comfortable with an angel, given your experiences with demons." He looked to Crowley, nodding and hoping that the story was convincing enough.

It wasn't much of a story anyway. Mildly impressed, Crowley arched a brow. "Fine."

"How will you get it out when I have the tattoo?" Dipper wondered, quietly terrified by the prospect. Something had whispered beneath his skin for years, but he'd ignored it. He'd happily keep ignoring it. "Bill's trapped outside and wouldn't whatever he left - if he really did leave something - be stuck?" 

"I bet Aziraphale could get rid of it," Mabel decided confidently. "He's Crowley's special angel, after all."

Noodles, definitely, the demon decided. 

"Well, I don't know what that has to do with my being able to remove a piece of a demon, but I'm sure I could come up with something," Aziraphale replied, straightening his bowtie. 

If Crowley could've left the house, he would've. Immediately. He'd have left the entire bloody country. Maybe visit the moon for a change of pace. 

Mabel grinned brightly. "There, see? You should let him, Dipper."

"Well, I mean, I..." He didn't _like_ people in his head. He really didn't like the idea of having a piece in there either, so shot Wirt a _help me_ look. 

Wirt took his hand and squeezed it, their fingers intertwined. He wasn't a fan of either scenario either, but Bill being in there was just what they were afraid of. If left unchecked, who knew what damage he'd do? 

_If_ they could trust what these two were saying. There was a chance they could be lying. Crowley was a demon, what if he was just saying he felt a trace of Bill? What if they were working with Bill and were trying to help him get to Dipper, earning their trust and lowering their defenses under the guise of 'helping them?' What if this was all a mistake?

Wirt looked down as he stroked over Dipper's hand. "What are you thinking?" he asked Dipper softly. "Do you want to go somewhere and talk it out?"

"And leave Matchmaker Mabel and her sidekick alone with them? Seems kinda mean," he murmured back. "Heck yeah."

"If an angel and a demon can't handle the two of them, then the world truly is doomed." Wirt managed a small smile, nudging him playfully before looking back at the two immortal beings sitting at the kitchen table, with their glasses of wine and half-eaten crȇpes. "Is it okay if we take a minute?"

"Of course. We understand it is quite invasive, but I promise I would not dare tread too deeply or pry where it's not needed. I would focus on finding the demon, nothing more. I hope that offers a bit of comfort."

Crowley leaned back in his chair, gaze most likely on Aziraphale and hands spread like he was offended about not being consulted first. Aziraphale ignored him. If they _were_ untrustworthy, they were at least phenomenal actors. 

"It- I'll let you know," Dipper promised, pushing back from the table and latching on Wirt's hand as soon as he could. This was just... crazy. Crazier than even Gravity Falls had a right to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Razzle dazzle.  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

"Okay, so... What do we know?" He could pace in the attic, click his pens, and study his corkboards. He could come up with solutions, even to Bill. He had new information on him, so started to add a bulleted list. "A lot, maybe. Do we even know for sure that he's really an angel? What if he's... I don't know. All the magic could actually just be Crowley and they're faking it somehow."

"Or they could both be demons?" Wirt's worries spilled out of him freely when it was just him and Dipper, comfortable enough with him and free from the potential judgment of an angel and the yellow eyes hidden behind sunglasses. "And they're just trying to get us to lower our defenses and let Bill in. I mean, we really have no way to prove Aziraphale's an angel, do we?"

"I don't know. We could ask for proof, but can you fake a halo? Do angels _actually_ have halos?" Dipper shrugged. "But I know they're not both demons. Aziraphale can come in and out. We've seen him do it. It's just... He _feels_ different. Does that make sense? But that's all I've got to go off of and, I mean... Mabel believes him? She's trusting but she's not- like she's not _stupid_."

Wirt sighed as he sagged against the door, already feeling a weight lifting from just being able to process with Dipper. "No, she's not. And I mean, honestly, he does have this sort of angelic glow? Like if I'm not too stuck in my head and worrying, I get this kind of sense. Like a 'be not afraid' sort of feeling that angels are supposed to come with. So it… It makes sense. It's just a lot, I think."

"It is a lot," he agreed, crossing to his boyfriend. He let himself remove the hat, bobbing up to let their lips meet and brows nuzzle together. "They _have_ given us a ton of info on Bill and, honestly, they don't seem impressed by him and Crowley was genuinely mad to see Hastur. That's the only demon besides Bill who's actually tried to kill us so far."

"Yeah, and if Aziraphale isn't a demon, then whatever that fire was must've been dangerous to him, too, right? I mean Crowley was fine in it, but Aziraphale didn't want to go near it and he did anyway to help us." Wirt closed his eyes, nuzzling back and let his arms loop around Dipper's waist. "I feel like that's a lot to risk just for a ruse."

"Especially if it's one for Bill. I just can't wrap my head around telling us all that if they're working with him. Bill likes to brag. He'd hate it if he knew they'd just totally brushed off him coming up with dreams. Like he did it, but humans perfected it? He'd be mad that they think it's boring that he's still trying to mess up our minds through dreams."

"Yeah." Wirt opened his eyes to search Dipper's gaze, keeping his voice low, like it would keep their secrets just between them even if it was in vain. "Do you… do you feel anything? Like he's in there somewhere?"

"Wirt, if he left something in my head when I was twelve..." How would he know? He'd never even considered it as a possibility. But was that because Bill wouldn't want him to? He _had_ always felt some sort of disquiet since that first intense possession, like something wasn't quite right in his own mind. Or had he? _Ugh_.

"Right, yeah… Guess if he did, he must've hid it pretty well. That's a really terrifying thought, sorry."

"Yeah, no kidding." Dipper bumped their noses together, smiling when Wirt's scrunched. "So... Maybe I let Aziraphale check? I don't think it'll be like possession. Maybe- I don't know, man. I don't know what happens if a possible angel gets in your brain."

"I'd hope only good things. Or at least inoffensive things. Maybe you can walk on water or make a lot of food out of five loaves and two fish," Wirt teased, then gave him a quick kiss. "And Mabel, Greg, and I will be here, looking out for you. And we can get Ford if we need to. He might be able to help."

"True. He's working on experimental sleeping pills because, I mean, it's Grunkle Ford. So as long as he's not dead asleep..." Dipper sighed, hands slipping up so his arms could comfortably wrap around his shoulders. "You think I should do it, then. Let him in?"

"I think… I think you should go with your instinct. You have a pretty good one for these kinds of things. What would you say if it was any of the rest of us? Me or Mabel? Greg's eight, so I feel like I'd want to go along like a chaperone or something, if that was even possible."

"It was. When Bill invaded Grunkle Stan’s mind, me, Mabel, _and_ Soos all went in together." Dipper bit his lip, considering the option. "Would you... I trust you to be a chaperone."

Wirt blinked. "You- wait, you trust me to… Are you sure? Would that make you feel better about it?"

"Well, _yeah_. I love you."

It didn't matter that they'd been together for a year, that they'd said the words more times than they could count, Wirt still blushed as Dipper's blunt honesty made his heart flutter and stomach twist into giddy knots. "I love you, too. So… so of course I'll do it. I'd- I'd do anything for you." 

"Okay. Then I'll... I'll let you and Aziraphale in. I mean, no offense to Crowley, I guess, but one demon's enough."

"I think he'd still take offense. He looks like he takes offense to every other word out of Aziraphale's mouth." Wirt found Dipper’s ballcap and replaced it atop his head, tweaking the bill as he stole a kiss. "But it'll be okay. It has to. We've got a picnic to go on in ten years, right?"

"We absolutely do, pilgrim. So we're going to be okay. I wonder if you can take _stuff_ into the Mindscape. Like if he had some holy water in his hand, would that transfer? He's an angel - most likely - so he could figure that out. Magic it. Or miracle it, whatever."

Wirt pursed his lips. "But it wouldn't be actual holy water, wouldn't it just be the idea of holy water? Since we won't physically be there, right? I- I'm not sure how it all works. When you were there, was it just your consciousness?"

"Well, yeah, but I had my stuff. And if it is some piece of Bill, he's not really there either. It's not physical. So I think metaphysical holy water would work against a metaphysical demonic fragment."

"Okay. Doesn't hurt to try it, I guess," Wirt agreed. "So should we go save them from the dynamic duo that is Greg and Mabel?"

"Yeah, probably." But Dipper kissed him again first, seeking and giving some measure of comfort for the way one day had turned their summer on its head. 

Wirt sank into it, taking advantage of the few minutes they had alone together. A soft sound of contentment slipped into the kiss, hummed against their lips. It was a little frightening, the idea of going into Dipper's head to look for a piece of the dream demon that had wreaked havoc on their lives last fall - and for longer than that when it came to the Pines twins - but if it meant getting to keep moments like this with Dipper for as long as possible, then Wirt was willing to do what he could to protect that. To protect Dipper and their family.

And possibly the fate of the world, though there was no way he was going to think on that too deeply. That was a little more pressure than he was willing to endure.

\----

"This can't seriously be the spell we're supposed to say, is it?"

Wirt raised an eyebrow as he lifted his gaze from the pages of Journal 3, disbelief written all over his face. While he'd gone through the journals with Dipper before, he'd never looked too closely at certain details, and this spell to get into the Mindscape had never been applicable. Until now, that is.

It must have been a joke like that one spell he was supposed to cleanse the house with.

"I should think not." Aziraphale appeared to share his train of thought, squinting at the words through his little reading glasses. "'Inceptus Nolanus overratus?' What the devil does that mean?" It certainly wasn't any Latin he'd ever studied.

"I think it's a movie," Greg piped up.

They had all gathered in the attic, a place where Dipper could lie down safely, while Aziraphale and Wirt sat on the miracled loveseat. Journal 3 was open to the Mindscape spell, resting in Wirt's lap so they could both read the pages, but the angel didn't seem to think they'd need it. Though he'd only possessed one human ever, so they couldn't really be sure that they wouldn't.

"It wasn't thirty years ago," Dipper sighed. "Look, I know it looks like something out of a Disney cartoon, but it does actually work. We used it. Haven't we, Mabel?" 

"Sure have! Grunkle Stan's spooky Mindscape was fun."

Aziraphale and Wirt still looked like they didn't quite believe them. "Well," the angel placed his palms on his thighs as he sat up straight. "Wirt here can give that a try, and we'll see if we come across each other. Do you need to be asleep for him to access your mind?" 

"Um... I mean, Grunkle Stan was."

"But it's not bedtime yet. And you stay up super late all the time," Greg pointed out. "How're you supposed to fall asleep now?"

Crowley sighed as he snapped and Dipper slumped, immediately sound asleep. "Like that. Not everything needs a four hour bloody discussion. Let's this hurry this along."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale scolded. "You could've at least warned him."

"He can be annoyed when he wakes up, angel. You don't have to do it for him."

Aziraphale huffed, but leaned against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. "Hush now, Crowley. I need to concentrate." He thought twice about it and decided to remove his reading glasses. "Make sure nothing happens to my corporation. It's not like with humans where the subconscious maintains a link to the body. My vessel will be completely empty, so no funny business."

Something sounded like a marker being uncapped. "'Course not."

Aziraphale opened one eye. "Don't you _dare_ think about drawing a marker mustache on me, Crowley!"

He spread his hands with a little shrug. "Alright, alright. I won't think about it."

"Don't _actually_ do it either!"

He could probably get the small one to do it. "If you're going to be this suspicious, may as well let the boy go first. Keep an eye on things longer."

Aziraphale glared at him with one eye, a glare that lasted even when both were shut. "I am trusting you, Crowley." He laid a reassuring hand on Wirt's shoulder. "I shall go first, make sure it's safe for you to follow. I'll give you a signal once I'm in, then we will meet on the edge of his subconscious."

Wirt swallowed thickly, but nodded. "Okay."

A flood of warmth spread through him from the contact, comfort in its purest form, and Wirt found he could breathe easier. Then it was gone and Aziraphale slumped back, falling to one side. Wirt grabbed him to keep his body from landing hard against the armrest and the third journal slipped from his lap, thumping on the floor.

"Oh my gosh," he choked, the body a dead weight and practically lifeless, only the fact that it was a holy vessel designed by angels kept it from being the same thing as a human corpse. "Oh gosh, I mean, he- he warned us, but- oh wow. Um…" He tried to guide him gently down to the cushions, trying not to rumple his jacket and waistcoat too much. 

Crowley pushed off the wall to help, quietly glad it had worked at all. It was one thing to enter a body while already discorporated, another to deliberately leave. "I've got him. Get your bloody book," he muttered, ignoring the disconcerting feeling seeing and adjusting a limp Aziraphale caused. This was not usual and he didn't think he liked it. 

Wirt shied back, nodding as he caught sight of his own reflection in the sunglasses. "Yeah, okay. Sorry." He fumbled for the journal, but startled when Dipper's body twitched suddenly on the bed.

He sat up and blinked, but what looked at them was decidedly not Dipper Pines. "Ah, good. Full range of motion. Don't think I'll ever get used to this though," he said, sounding much like Aziraphale as he flexed his fingers a few times, then waved jovially at the room. "Hello! This is the signal, in case that wasn't clear."

Wirt blinked at him. "Um… no, it's- it's pretty clear."

"Wonderful."

"You don't need a range of motion when you're only there to explore his mind," Crowley reminded him, "and you're not going to make a habit of this, so definitely no need to get used to it."

"Well, I thought that it would only be once when I was with Madame Tracy, and yet, here we are." Aziraphale tilted Dipper's head, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to argue. Except it _was_ Crowley, so he definitely would. But he could see the way the demon was handling his abandoned corporation and didn't miss how some of the tension fled his posture with their brief interaction, so he thought it worth it just the same. "Come in whenever you're ready, young Wirt." With that he reclined once again and closed his eyes, letting the body return to sleep so he could slip into the subconscious.

Wirt watched him for a minute as his breathing evened out, then looked at Mabel. She grinned encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his resolve and his grip on a spray bottle of holy water, very carefully tucked on the side away from Crowley. 

"Okay. Here we go." He cleared his throat and opened the journal back to the page on the Mindscape. "'Videntus omnium... magister mentium?' How's my pronunciation?" he asked Mabel.

"Hesitant," was the honest reply. "But you're doing great, sweetie."

"Okay, sorry." 

Wirt tried again, harnessing his poetry voice to say the spell with more intent behind the words. To enter Dipper's mind and keep him safe from whatever Bill had planned for him. As the last word left his lips, all Wirt could remember before closing his eyes was a flash of bluish, bright light and then everything went dark.

When he opened them, everything was gray.

He gasped, taking a surprised step backwards, then froze as he took in his surroundings. He was at the edge of the woods, a few short feet in front of a sprawling house that seemed to be constantly shifting. Wirt recognized bits and pieces of his own home as well as the Pines' home in Piedmont and the Mystery Shack.

"This is a rather interesting ambience." 

Aziraphale's voice came from beside him and Wirt was relieved to see that the angel looked very much like his corporation, instead of a thing with a million eyes and wings and wheels. He even had the same worn patches in his waistcoat. Wirt wondered if it was to put him at ease while they were in here, and maybe even comfort himself while he was separated from his body. Wirt looked down at himself to see what he looked like, only mildly surprised to see he’d projected himself in the clothes his body was currently wearing and that the squirt bottle filled with holy water had indeed made it in with them. He rolled his wrist, watching what appeared to be liquid slosh around inside it. He tucked the nozzle through one of his belt loops to free up his hands.

Aziraphale waited for him to settle before he looked away from the shifting house to smile at him. "Shall we?"

"You mean, go in there?" Wirt pointed at what was one second the front door to the Mystery Shack and the next, the front door to the Piedmont house. "What's in there?"

"I'm not sure," Aziraphale told him honestly. "But it looks as good a place to start as any."

They stepped up onto the porch, their footfalls soundless in the gray expanse. Arriving at the front door, they glanced at each other before the angel straightened his bowtie and knocked. They waited a beat, but nothing happened. 

Aziraphale tried again. "Hello?" he called out. "Anyone home?"

"Would anyone be home?" Wirt asked.

"Figured it would be better to check first, rather than barge in without announcing ourselves," Aziraphale rationalized.

Wirt could somewhat agree with that, but if Bill was somewhere in here, he didn't exactly want to alert him to their presence either. The angel tried the doorknob when it continued to go unanswered, but it didn't turn. He jiggled it a few times, palm pressed flat against the woodgrain to brace himself. It didn't budge.

"Hm. Perhaps there's a key of some sort." Aziraphale stepped aside and looked around, searching for a doormat or a potted plant, something to hide a key in. "Or maybe there's something we're missing…"

Wirt considered the door for a moment, then reached for the knob himself, testing it with the gentlest of twists. While they both had permission to enter Dipper's mind, it was Wirt he'd felt safest with. It was Wirt who he loved enough to let in without reservations. It gave easily, the lock unlatched.

"Oh," Aziraphale gasped, a breathless sort of sound. When he realized he had Wirt's attention, his smile turned elated. "Love. Of course. Carry on, dear boy."

Wirt took a steadying breath - unsure if it was really helping without a body, but felt better afterwards anyway - and pushed the door open. Color washed in immediately. It was like Dipper's bedroom at the Mystery Shack. Boards, cork and white, lined the walls. They were full of ever-changing information. One marked calculus had equations rapidly scrawled across the surface, only to be erased and replaced with something else just as quickly. Beside it, one labeled physics had letters and numbers literally falling to the floor in their haste to fill up as much space as possible. There were dozens of subjects, words, pictures, films - they all moved over them, constantly in flux.

In one corner, the sousaphone moved on its own, bleating a melody displayed on a music book. A clarinet was beside it, swaying silently. In another was his desk and three large monitors spread out. The keyboard keys clicked rapidly, but the vision of Dipper that sat behind the desk wasn't actively typing. He was watching the monitors with interest, but his gaze shifted to them and his smile was an easy greeting. 

"Hey, babe. Principality."

"Dipper?" Wirt wasn't sure what he expected, but seeing his boyfriend chilling in a bizarre version of his room wasn't it. "Is that… are you _you_?"

"Yes and yes, but no. I'm me at an... extra level so not exactly the me that you're used to." Dipper paused, leaning back in his chair. "That probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but I've never tried to explain it before and I'm trying to keep my body at an even keel. Sudden sleep startled my consciousness - the me you're used to - and now _the_ angel is here so my heart is racing like crazy."

"It is?" Concern flashed in Wirt's eyes. "Is it okay that we're here? Should we-?" He turned to Aziraphale, who was studying this Dipper-but-not with a curious eye. "Wait, what do you mean by ' _the_ angel?' What's with the emphasis?"

"Well it's because he's our guardian and has been since day one? Like humanity's as a whole. Helping Adam and Eve in the garden and all. You have the knowledge in you, too; we all do. So you're fine to be in here, I promise." Something about having to calm Wirt calmed the body they were all within, this version of Dipper visibly relaxing. "It's okay, pilgrim."

Seeing him relax did put Wirt at ease, some of the tension bleeding out of him as he watched this Dipper smile so easily. "Okay. If you say so. So you're… are you like your soul? We have souls, right?" Wirt glanced at Aziraphale, who nodded.

"Yes, you do. Though from what I understand the soul is far more… vast, you could say," he attempted to explain, gesturing excessively with his hands even when in a discorporated state. "It can't be contained as a fixed point, though I suppose it could be a summarized version of it. Something that the human mind is capable of understanding and accepting."

"Basically," Dipper agreed. "Like I'm a fraction of what there is, but I'm also all of it at once. Bill _wishes_ he could understand everything God did with his ideas. But then even I can't tell you exactly where to find what you're here for. There are pieces I haven't been able to reach in years."

"Pieces? Like… memories?" Wirt tried to envision how it would look, having pieces of yourself scattered throughout your own mind in different places. "Or like doors? Like when you told me about how you helped your Grunkle Stan."

"Both and more, babe. The woods out there were a piece, each memory is a piece, this building, this room, all the buildings and rooms you didn't see because I wanted you to come here. Because I _am_ it and I control it. The only thing I don't have total control over is my conscious self but that's where free will comes into play." He shrugged, a wisdom in his eyes that went beyond Dipper's usual gaze. "So, yeah, I'm both a simplified summary and the sum of it all. There's just an annoying little demonic bit that floats around in a blind spot it created. It makes me... glitch sometimes."

"Glitch?" Wirt's brow furrowed. "Is that like the migraines?"

"The migraines, some... memory lapses. _I_ know I've lost time here and there, seeing things outside me isn't supposed to? Or- or _something_. I don't know what's being lost, but it's definitely something. It's only been happening since fishing day. Which, y'know, is starting to become a problematic kinda thing." The genuine, familiar displeasure in his expression over not being able to know a secret was almost comforting to see. "I just can't access everything while whatever-this-is is making a mess. If it's gone, well..." 

"Well, that's exactly why we’ve come. To find the demonic parasite and set you to rights," Aziraphale assured him. "Now Crowley did tell me what to look out for in terms of demonic energy, so with his guidance we should be able to track it down and neutralize it. Get you back to being right as rain." 

Despite the circumstances, the angel still couldn’t help but be utterly charmed by this sum of Dipper Pines’s subconscious mind. He’d never interacted with anything like him before. While he'd been in Madame Tracy, he'd been strictly surface level, no need to go poking about in her head, and he wasn't in her long enough to be stuck there while she slept. This was a whole new experience, a new glimpse at the inner workings of humanity. 

It was also strange, and a little humbling, to be recognized on this subconscious level. He'd no idea that somehow humans just _knew_ who he was. That he was their principality. He'd never really thought of himself as the guardian angel for all humans, that seemed rather presumptuous. 

"That'd be great. He's - Crowley, I mean. He's trying to find it." The sum looked down at the monitors, leaning forward to drag the keyboard closer. "We... We _can_ really trust him, can't we? I can give him better access. I just..."

Aziraphale softened, a hazy warmth emanating from him, unobstructed by his physical body. "There is no being in all creation I would trust more," he soothed both boys. "Except perhaps the Almighty Herself, of course."

"Of course," Wirt echoed, finding it more difficult to question his motives, not with what this Dipper had said about the angel and how genuine he felt.

"I don't think the creator counts in creation," Dipper's sum mused, fingers moving over the keys. He and Aziraphale could feel the crackling of Crowley's energy, but he kept it from Wirt. He surrounded him in something else, his love pure and complete and hopefully encouraging. "I'll open whatever path you need, but if Crowley points you somewhere else, follow that. I can't promise Bill won't glitch me again."

"You're not coming?" Wirt reached for him, fingertips grazing his shoulder, wanting to give back even a sliver of the feeling he'd been wrapped up in. 

He took Wirt's hand, kissing the back. "Yes and no. I'll open the paths and I _am_ the paths. But this physical-looking version of me can't risk meeting the conscious version. If we do, we'll join up and... That's that." He offered him a smile, squeezing his hand. "We can have an apple, but not the whole tree."

"Oh, that's a _lovely_ sentiment. Very well put," Aziraphale commended, then covered his mouth as they both looked over at him. "Ah, you're having a moment. My apologies, don't mind me." He angled away from them to give them some semblance of privacy, pretending to study the pair of instruments bobbing in the corner.

Wirt was blushing, but still smiled through it as he drew Dipper's hand up to his lips. He brushed a kiss against his palm and squeezed back. His love fluttered in his chest, and he hoped that his boyfriend could feel it, even just a trace of it.

"Okay, I'll see you soon. I'll take care of you," he promised.

"I know you will, my poetic pilgrim. Now go on. My conscious self may not be aware unless need be, but _I_ can still hear what's going on out there. A certain demon's getting impatient and a certain little brother is very easy to tempt."

Aziraphale couldn't help turning around on a gasp. "Oh, he wouldn't! That foul fiend, he's going to get Gregory to do something to my corporation, isn't he? That's his workaround."

"Oh, I'm sure Gregory's the one asking Crowley if he can do something to it," Wirt sighed, releasing Dipper's hand. "Don't be surprised if you wake up with shaving cream in your hand."

"Why would he put shaving cream in my hand? What does that mean?" Aziraphale wrung his hands together as he tried to puzzle it out, shaking his head. "Nevermind, let's not get distracted. Come along now, I expect we need to go through this lift?" He headed over to the elevator doors against the wall close to the computer monitors.

"To start." The doors slid open and he could feel Crowley's demonic energy crackle through, leading the way. He wondered why he hadn't come himself, but wisely let it go. Certain things didn't need to know certain things. "Good luck, Wirt. My conscious self won't remember any of this, so be prepared for a thousand questions."

"I'd expect a thousand questions even if you did." Wirt couldn't help grinning, his gaze stuck on the sum as he backed into the elevator, even as the doors began to close. "I'll miss you!"

His voice echoed off the inside of the elevator, with only him and Aziraphale inside. Nerves rekindled, he ducked his head and avoided the angel's eyes. "It must be weird to say 'I'll miss you' even though I'm in his head, huh? I mean, it's stupid. He's right here, all around us."

Aziraphale kept his gaze trained on the doors, reaching out with his own essence to brush against the demonic energy humming in the small space as it led them down. "No, I don't think it's odd at all," he assured him, recalling what it had been like to walk around in Crowley's skin and not have the demon's presence anywhere close. "We'll see him again soon though. Won't be too long."

"We live on opposite ends of the country most of the year, so we go months without getting to see each other or touch or just… talk without something else in between us. So when we do get together… it's like I can't ever get enough. Even when we're together every day…"

Aziraphale did look at him then. "At some point you won't have to count the days or search for excuses to see one another."

"I know, I just… I know months aren't anything to you, but… it feels so much longer sometimes. The clock holds its hands in place, waiting with arms outstretched for minutes to sate its ravenous appetite, stealing seconds from a half life whittled down while I wait, my arms too, reaching into the seamless seasons that seem without end for just a grain of summer sand and a second of your smile."

The words were spoken as a wistful sigh, but they captivated the angel despite the quiet utterance. "Was that a poem?"

"Oh, um… yeah, I sometimes… write poetry. Recite it under my breath like a weirdo."

"Don’t say such things. Poetry is a beautiful art. Some of my favorite first editions are by poets." The elevator stopped and the doors slid open, the energy snapping and beckoning them through. "Yes, yes, my dear. We're coming." The energy settled across Aziraphale's shoulders in a serpentine way Crowley had never dared try, but it was the most he could do in the way of staying connected to him and insistent. 

They stepped out onto soft grass. Wisps of noise came from bleachers off to the side, phantom laughter and cheering of families and children watching a baseball game. An empty diamond stretched out ahead of them, the faint adrenaline of unseen players ripe in the air. 

"Does he play?" Aziraphale asked, admiring the field.

"Yeah, he's a pitcher. A really good one." Wirt's brow furrowed as he looked around. "What now?"

"We keep an eye out for anything that doesn't look like it belongs to young Dipper. Crowley will help as it tries to hide itself from us. If it ended up in here when he was twelve, it's had… how old is he now?"

"Sixteen. Almost seventeen."

"Well, that's about four years this piece of Cipher has had to adapt to its environment then. Not too long in the great scheme of things, but for a rapidly developing mind at a crucial point in one's growth, well… I'd say be prepared to expect anything." Aziraphale advised, feeling a light tug at the edge of his essence, guiding him towards the dugout. "This way, I believe."

Wirt followed him into the home team's dugout, right up to a door that led into the team's locker room. The faint, ghostly chatter of teen boys faded in and out in the empty space, teammates' camaraderie and laughter drifting in the background, along with a dull throbbing echo of loneliness. Wirt remembered the look on Dipper's face when he'd been visiting over Christmas break, when he wasn't invited to a team get-together. Always left out, on the sidelines.

Wirt rested a hand against the locker that belonged to Dipper, caressing it gently with his fingertips. Maybe he couldn't feel it, but this sum… he'd said he was all parts of Dipper's mind. Everything, even the structures, were a part of him, so maybe... 

"I'm here. It's going to be okay," he assured Dipper quietly, pushing all his love into the touch.

Aziraphale came up behind him, both eyebrows raised as he tilted his head to one side. "How did you know?"

Wirt blinked, the sensation of heat creeping up in his cheeks still very present even in this mind version of himself. Embarrassed, he pulled away from the locker. "Know what?" Aziraphale nodded at the locker and Wirt glanced back at it. "Oh. I mean, I've only been in here once. The real locker room, not the mind one," he clarified stupidly, kicking himself. "But, uh… it just felt like this was his. I feel him here. If that makes any sense… What?" Wirt folded his arms across his chest. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Aziraphale's smile was too soft and too tender as he reached past Wirt to open the locker. Resting right in the middle of it was a single golden feather. Wirt's jaw dropped, eyes wide as the angel plucked it up and held it to the light. It wasn't a true gold, glittering more like pyrite and far too yellow. Trying very hard to be something it wasn't.

Dragging his fingers along the outer vane, the feather began to disintegrate in his grasp, the tips of the angel's fingers smoking as the last of the fibers turned to nothing. He blew on them, then shook them off and removed a handkerchief from his vest pocket. Wirt stared at him as he wiped his hands clean.

"There. That wasn't too much trouble. I'm quite surprised it was that simple."

"That was… that was it?" Wirt blinked. "Why a feather?"

"Demons have wings, too," was all Aziraphale explained.

Wirt shook his head. "Wait, but why was it so _easy_?"

"Clearly Crowley is a better seeker than Cipher is a hider." Aziraphale's chest couldn't help but puff up a bit in pride.

It amused the demon even as it pleased him, though was also successful in distracting him from doing another quick search. If it had been suspiciously simple, it didn't matter to Crowley under his angel's confidence. His hand fell away from Dipper, shoulders rolling as he refocused on the boy's room. "They're finished. Should be out soon."

Mabel smiled, relieved. "Good. At least that's one thing off the list. What was it?" 

"Dunno. I didn't have _eyes_ in there, just..." He waved a hand, glancing at Greg. "You might wanna get down before they wake back up. Never wanna get caught at the scene of the crime."

"Right!" Greg saluted Crowley and hopped down from the loveseat. A pair of googly eyes from Mabel's craft box had been glued to both of their foreheads. He'd even made pipe cleaner glasses for the ones on Aziraphale's head. Wirt's had a red puff ball nose.

It promptly fell off as soon as Wirt moved his head, but the confusion on his face had been worth it as he blinked dazedly at the puff ball in his lap. "What?" 

"Oh, _Crowley_." Aziraphale plucked the pipe cleaners off his brow with a heavy sigh and equally heavy eye roll. The way he moved his head made the googly eyes roll with them and Greg had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering. "Really?" 

He smiled. "Wot?" 

Aziraphale tried to frown at him, but the glue made his corporation's skin stiff. He huffed again and snapped, the googly eyes promptly reappearing on Crowley's sunglasses. "Oh. Must have slipped." He managed to not let his voice crack as amusement tickled the back of his throat. " _Dreadfully_ sorry, my dear."

He pulled the sunglasses off, sending the little black circles spinning and Aziraphale an unamused stare before he snapped. The craft eyes disappeared again, though this surprise would keep until they made it back to the manor and the books Aziraphale had brought along. "Slipped. Right. It wasn't even my idea," he complained, having no qualms about selling his accomplice out. "The small one got creative."

"You'll never convict! You have no proof! " Greg declared, having smartly hidden the glue gun under Dipper's bed. "And even if I did, you were a witness to the crime and did nothing. An accomplice by default."

Wirt picked the googly eyes off his own head. "Don't push it, Greg."

Mabel grinned, knitting needles quietly clicking. By Greg's logic she, too, would be an accomplice. And, well, she had been. They were her craft supplies, after all. "It could've been worse."

"It's never good when you say that," Dipper said, groggy and not at all remembering when or how he'd fallen asleep. 

"Hi, admiral! How're you feeling?" Greg leapt right onto Dipper's bed to sit beside him. "Did you see them in your head?"

He reached out, ruffling his hair. "I'm fine and no. Was I supposed to?" 

"I don't know. I don't know how these things are supposed to work." Greg shrugged.

"No, I don't believe you were supposed to recall any encounter with us. Your conscious mind was asleep, after all." Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat and straightened himself out, adjusting to fitting back into his body. "But we located one of Cipher's feathers and eliminated it. He shouldn't have the ability to interfere with you any longer." No one could see Crowley's eyes narrowing behind dark lenses. A _feather_?

Wirt rose from the loveseat to perch on the edge of Dipper's bed, too. "Yeah, I think we got it. Aziraphale got it. And Crowley." He placed his hand on his knee and rubbed in gentle circles to reinforce their point of contact. 

"You were instrumental as well, it would have been much more of a challenge without the access your bond granted you."

Dipper grinned and leaned closer to kiss his cheek. "I think that means you're good for me, babe."

A blush rose to Wirt's cheeks as he ducked his head and nudged him away. "I'm not responding to that."

"That's literally a response," he pointed out, grin bright. He didn't feel any different, but he didn't think Wirt would lie about it either. 

"Not the one you were looking for, probably," Wirt countered with a huff.

"How come Bill left a feather? That seems kinda weird." Greg frowned, ignoring the obwaffles next to him. 

"Well, all angels and demons have wings. I don't believe being exiled makes him an exception." Seeing as both he and Crowley still had theirs despite everything, Aziraphale assumed. "It would be the simplest way to leave a part of himself."

"An arm would've been cooler," Greg sighed wistfully, then aimed his grin at Crowley. 

His lips twitched in response, though he had some reservations over it just being a feather. It hadn't _felt_ so small... Hm. He brushed it away for later, deciding he liked the small one's suggestions more and more. He certainly wasn't ignorant of the sunglasses the boy had been wearing. 

"Or a leg. Maybe his remaining eye."

"Yeah! Or his appendix!" Greg suggested with all the glee of a kid picking out whatever he wanted from the dessert menu.

"Good Lord." Aziraphale shook his head, moving to stand. "Let's be thankful it was just a feather. I doubt Wirt and I would've appreciated opening the locker to find dismembered body parts."

"Honestly, that's what I expect when it comes to Bill." But Wirt still shuddered at the thought. "Thanks for that mental image, Greg."

"You're welcome!" 

Crowley laughed, a softly wicked sound, and looked at Aziraphale when he settled at his side. "Wasn't bad, then? Kid's mind?" 

"Not at all. He had a lift in his mind, took us right where you needed us to go." There was a playful glint in his eyes. "Should I say thank you?" 

For a moment his smile was too fond before it shifted to more of a smirk. "Your half of our side can say thanks. My half is gonna keep ignoring it."

Accepting it for the win it was, Aziraphale let that go. "Well, now that that's settled, I suppose we should figure out a strategic way to engage with Cipher and put a stop to his plans for Armageddon at long last. And deal with Duke Hastur, I imagine."

"He doesn't need his bloody title, angel. It makes him sound better than he is."

"I only meant to stress the potential danger he presents to us," Aziraphale defended.

"Making him sound better than he is again."

"How do you find Bill?" Mabel interrupted. "He normally just... finds us."

"I mean, there's always summoning." Dipper slipped off the bed to find the second journal. "We could figure out a trap with that. I've just never done it before."

"Summoning him would be helpful, but what we need is a body for him… if we're going to eliminate him entirely." Aziraphale paused as he considered that, well aware that it was what they had discussed earlier in the day, but... "Gosh, do you suppose it really has to come to that? Would that make us any better than Heaven or Hell if we made the decision whether he lives or dies? He's not a human, or the Antichrist. He's just a demon who doesn't want to follow the rules."

"The last time he was tucked away in a body, he got out and now he's trying to kill kids and end the world all over again. It's going to come to that, angel."

"You and I almost killed a child. Though we weren't trying to end the world, quite the opposite." He wondered if the two cancelled each other out, whereas Cipher's misdeeds just kept stacking up. "Fine. But we need his vessel to be disposable. Something that can be easily sacrificed and not missed when holy water comes into contact with him."

Wirt's gaze roved over the angel's form, then over Crowley's. "Where did you get your bodies? Like… how? How are they made?"

"Well, currently in Heaven they're issued by the quartermaster. He oversees all physical assets that are issued to angels who are deployed on Earth. Corporations count as a physical asset, one of the most valuable kinds. The paperwork when you lose one is a nightmare, so I've heard, which leads me to believe that Heaven doesn't have many lined up and ready to be distributed."

"What about in Hell?" 

Crowley shrugged. "No idea. I've never worried about it."

"They must have figured out a way to create new corporations somehow." Aziraphale shot Crowley a look, but it didn't have the usual sort of 'oh, of course you've never worried about it, perfect' feeling. If Crowley was tied to his body, then he really wouldn't have any reason to know how new corporations came into being. He'd never get the chance to see how. "Perhaps they're forged in Hellfire? Or as a mockery to the Almighty, they could be forged from clay or-"

Crowley quickly shushed him, impulsively cupping his elbow to make sure it stuck as he recognized the beginning of a holier-than-thou rant. He'd rather avoid that. "I know Cipher's punishment when getting cast out was a brimstone body some lesser demon built. He couldn't be trusted with a regular one and he'd proven how irritating he could be when discorporated."

"Brimstone?" Aziraphale frowned. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier?"

"It wasn't real! Well, it was _real_. It just wasn't-" His gesture encompassed them both. "It was a statue and he obviously escaped it."

"Yes, but what if holy water was poured onto the statue?"

He only shrugged, so Dipper spoke up again. "Sulfur is porous. So dropping a statue like that in, like, a holy water bath would probably work."

"Excellent! We could do that. Then surely the statue will dissolve and the demon with it." Aziraphale knew his triumphant gesture would only serve to make Crowley roll his eyes, but he couldn't help doing it regardless. "We'll just have to convince him to inhabit the statue somehow."

"Yes, well, we'll also have to _forge_ the statue. We'll need Hell's brimstone to do all that, so I s'pose I'll have to head down after all."

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed without thinking, then his eyes went wide as he frantically backtracked. "Wait, I mean, _no_. Crowley, you aren't welcome down there. If they catch you, who knows what sort of terrible things they'll do to you? They might be more creative this time."

"It's Hell. I'm not afraid of their version of creativity, and I won't be caught."

"Crowley, they tried to kill you last time you were there!"

"Lassst time was different," he hissed. And it hadn't _technically_ been him they'd tried to kill. "It's not like I have to _walk_ and it's dark down there. Scales'll blend in."

Well, in that case some of those lesser demons might step on him, which Aziraphale liked just about as much. Wringing his hands, he wracked his brain for an alternative while simultaneously refusing that option. "No."

"What if he didn't go alone?" Greg piped up, waiting for the angel to look at him before elaborating. "Like how you and Wirt went into Dipper's head together. I'll go with Crowley!"

"You're not going to Hell, Greg." Wirt shot down immediately, understanding now just why Aziraphale was so against Crowley going. Even if Greg acted like a literal demon sometimes, it didn't mean he was going to let him get within five hundred feet of a potential Hell situation.

"Why not?" Greg pouted. "It'd be an adventure, like when we went to the Unknown."

"It's not happening. Stop. Besides, people only go to Hell if they're dead and did bad things while they were alive, right?" Wirt gestured for the two beings to agree.

"Er… yes, that is the general consensus."

"Baby, we'll go on adventures after we stop Bill. Aziraphale's obviously going to go with Crowley."

The demon snapped his gaze to Mabel. " _No_. No, he's not. No one's going with me."

Aziraphale tilted his chin up, side-eyeing him. "If it's going to be so simple for you to go down there, I don't see why I shouldn't accompany you."

"Because I said no! And you look like you! Angels don't go to Hell." His angel didn't. Not again. 

"Of course we can. The Archangel Michael did." Granted it was for an execution, so under circumstances that demons would be accepting of… but then again, wasn't this also a mission for an execution? "There, it's settled. Thank you for the idea, Gregory, Miss Mabel."

"It's not _settled_. You're not going. You'd never blend in."

"I'll go undercover." He almost sounded excited at this point. "Disguise myself. I'm sure I have something…" He gave Crowley a onceover. "Black." 

"This is not a bloody game, love." Crowley did not sound excited. He sounded just this side of terrified. "It's _Hell_. I've had six thousand years to learn how to navigate it and you only had an afternoon and you didn't exactly waltz around. I'm _telling_ you that you're not going."

"I know it's not a game. Honestly, Crowley, give me some credit," he sighed, but placed his hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him. Frightening his demon was not at all a part of the plan. "Your safety as well as mine would hinge on my not giving us away. I would take that as seriously as I possibly could. I would not leave your side, so there would be no need for me to 'waltz around,' as you put it." 

Demanding that Crowley not go clearly wasn't working, and after being on the other end of it, Aziraphale didn't very much like being told _he_ couldn't go either. But he wasn't going to demand that he let him accompany him. No, they were both too stubborn and the resulting back and forth they had centuries of practice with would be like the world's most tedious tennis match. Still, Aziraphale made one last ditch effort to convince Crowley. 

Squeezing his arm, Aziraphale looked at him imploringly, brows drawn up as he sought Crowley’s gaze beyond his lenses. "Please, my dear? It would set me at ease to be there with you."

No, no, no. This wasn't some silly little thing like boosting a play's popularity or fixing a stain on a coat. This was like leading a lamb to slaughter. 

Except he _had_ been before. He'd been and by all accounts had handled the trial magnificently. On a growl of a groan, he weaved in place as if he didn't have joints. A snake bobbing before a strike or, more accurately, under a snake charmer's spell. 

" _If_ you go," which meant he was going, "there are going to be rules."

Aziraphale was already beaming. "Naturally," he agreed. "I'll have a list for you as well."

"I won't read it," he warned. "I'm the one who knows what he's doing down there."

"You're also the one who was nearly executed, darling." Aziraphale gave him a fond pat. "Don't worry, I'll read it aloud to you. You won't have to skim a word."

His expression pinched, displeasure obvious, and Mabel beamed at them. What a stupid, adorable fight. "So that's settled. You guys will go make a statue, we'll summon Bill, and then we'll throw Bill into the statue, add some holy water, and he'll never try to ruin the world again. Perfect plan."

It had holes, namely how they were going to throw a demon into a statue, but Crowley knew it didn't and wouldn't make a difference. They needed to get through Hell first. Then he'd think on the rest. Maybe there was some idea of how they'd done it in Cipher's file. He should've just gone and checked sooner despite Aziraphale's reservations. It would've saved him from coming along. 

It also would've upset him. Fucking angel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter helps put to rest the worries about whether Dipper has been showering.  
> You're welcome xD


	11. Chapter 11

Preston screamed somewhere in the manor. Crowley could barely hear it, but it was satisfying nonetheless. Little bell left over, little miracle. Almost as satisfying as Aziraphale's irritation over the googly eyes dotting the covers of his books. They were easily shaken away because he'd never actually put _glue_ on Aziraphale's precious tombs, but the horrified gasp before the angel had realized that still made him smile. 

Or tried to. He was still thinking about taking Aziraphale to Hell, and it made him fidget. The problem with having limbs, he thought, was all the fidgeting they could get into. 

"Are you sure you want to go all the way to Hell? You really look off in black."

Aziraphale was still caressing two of his precious books, taking care to make sure they really were no worse for wear. "You won't change my mind, Crowley. Especially not with an argument involving clothing." Speaking of, he best get on with that.

He hadn't brought any of his black garments with him because Crowley was right, it really wasn't in his color wheel, but with a snap, he transported his few dark outfits into the manor's wardrobe for his consideration. His magician's getup would probably be the most comfortable to be in, but it also stood out a bit. Might attract undue attention.

Crowley strolled over to take a look himself, unimpressed and unsurprised. "Do you have _anything_ newer than fifty years old?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course not," Aziraphale huffed. "Half a century is hardly any time at all. The clothes are still perfectly wearable." He took out the black suit jacket and considered it. Normally he didn't like using miracles to alter his clothes, but the tails were a bit unnecessary. "This over my shirt should be a fine substitute for a demon's outfit. They shouldn't be looking too closely at us anyway, or they'll recognize us."

"Trenchcoat would hide more of you then. Maybe something from the 40s," he mused. "You liked that decade after the whole war thing ended. Here." Crowley had never gotten the chance to do this, so a snap returned Aziraphale's pitiful wardrobe where it belonged and a new coat appeared in his grip. "Won't have to bother singing up the bottom if it's black anyway. Your hair's gonna be a problem though."

Aziraphale's appreciation over the coat was interrupted as he touched his own hair. "What do you mean? You have red hair, Beelzebub has black, and Hastur has no hair at all. Why should my hair give us away?" 

"Because no self-respecting demon would have soft fluffy curls anybody could call _sweet_. You'll at least need a hat. We can keep on theme if you want. Fedora wouldn't look bad or out of place, I'd think."

"Fine. I will accept a hat." Aziraphale also quietly accepted the compliment, not daring to draw attention to it in the event that it embarrassed the demon. He fiddled with said curls for another beat, then laid his new trench coat over the bed so he could strip off his current beige one. "Will you change at all?" 

"I'll have to, won't I? The only thing I don't think they'd recognize is me as a snake at this point. Haven't done that in Hell since I discovered I could."

"They wouldn't recall that was the form you took when you tempted Eve? That gave you the title Serpent of Eden?" 

"Not most demons, the lesser ones. Rattled brains and all. Besides, that title's more from your... Well, y'know, angels. I still get called Crawly down there more often than not." He waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Those rattled brains make it just as simple to hide with a hat, hairstyle, and outfit."

Aziraphale hummed as he hung up his coat with care and donned the new one. The black was a striking contrast to his usual soft creams and browns, making the pale color of his curls stand out against the starkness. Yes, a hat would be good, he mused as he inspected his reflection, then took the hat Crowley offered him.

"How's that?" he asked, adjusting the black fedora until it sat comfortably.

Crowley hovered behind him, pacing one side to the other and back as he frowned at the reflection. He really didn't look right in black. "Mm. Almost right," he mused, reaching out to loosen Aziraphale's bowtie. "This'd be a bloody beacon."

"Ah…" Aziraphale's throat tightened, his corporation finding that it desperately needed to swallow despite there being no mention of food whatsoever. "Yes, of course…" he agreed, mesmerized by the way Crowley's fingers dug into the fabric to undo the knot, so close to grazing the vulnerable skin of his neck.

The demon paused as he realized just what he was doing, but powered through anyway. He kept his hands steady and careful, drawing the tartan collar off. It was almost unbearably intimate, so he quickly stepped back. "More demony already. No one should get close enough to see your eyes, so we'll leave those alone."

They were currently wide and shimmering, their exact shade unknown and ethereal as he watched Crowley through the mirror. "I could…" He had to start again, clearing his throat. "I could always borrow a pair of your sunglasses. If you think it might be a problem." If he couldn't stop looking at him as if he'd hung the stars, which he had, but it didn't mean Aziraphale was supposed to _look_ at him like he had. At least, not in front of other demons. 

He blinked rapidly and looked away, adjusting the buttons of his trench coat and his shirt collar to give his hands something to do other than draw the demon back to him. It felt rather silly to be buttoned up all the way to his neck without a proper tie, so he popped the first two, to add to the demonic look. Demons, other than Crowley, tended to be a bit haphazardly dressed. At least the ones he'd come into contact with.

Oh, that... That wasn't fair. Crowley hated that he had to clear his throat. "Sunglasses. Right. Still have the ones I used to wear back then."

"Good, we can bring them as a precaution." Aziraphale's gaze flickered back to Crowley's, assuming that he was looking at him through the tinted lenses, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed did not go unnoticed. "Alright there, dearest?" 

"M'fine." He was nowhere near fine, fingers running over the tartan fabric. He never got to touch this unique part of Aziraphale and his hands seemed to want to take advantage. "You do know the goal is to _not_ attract attention, don't you?" 

Honest confusion rippled across his features as he blinked at him. "I thought that was what we were doing. What else would you have me do, Crowley? Oh, is it my mannerisms? I can assure you I'll behave like a proper demon when the situation calls for it. After all, I played a very convincing you." He'd even used slang. The word "dude." Quite a rush saying it to _the_ Archangel Michael. 

No, it was the way he _looked_. He was always comfortably rumpled, a little outdated, and so damn _soft_ that it was easy to look at him, make little wishes, and just... move on, bask in familiar comfort. _This_ was different. It was uncomfortable, disheveled, and the combination of it with, yes, Aziraphale's _him-ness_ was very difficult. Worse, the angel had let him get close. He'd looked at him like he'd wanted him that near. He was not, in any way, prepared to deal with the consequences of getting close enough to touch like that. 

"Right. None of your normal enthusiasm for things. No being charming or likeable or polite. You'll have to be very much not you, angel." He made his lips quirk, grateful for the shades hiding his fond gaze. "And not me, either. I don't quite fit the mold as well as we'll need to if anyone stops us."

Though he couldn't see his eyes, Aziraphale felt a tiny blossom of warmth bloom in his chest at that smile. "Right," he agreed, his lips curving to match Crowley's as he finally turned from the mirror to face him. "No demon who would throw their lot in with an angel would fit Hell's mold. Certainly not one with your style. Don't you fret, my dear. I'll make sure to not to have an ounce of charm or dashing swagger." 

He was failing on at least one of those counts, Crowley not quite sure what he was supposed to do with the angel and his compliments. _Dashing_ , really? It was just so very him. "Definitely gonna have to turn down that radiance, love."

"You're making that quite a bit difficult, I'm afraid." What did he expect, calling him "love" like that? Not that Crowley would ever admit to saying such a thing if called out on it, and that alone brought a wealth of affection into Aziraphale's eyes. "You shall have to put on a good performance, too. Can't have us being too… amicable with one another. Suppose that's not something demons do..."

Not exactly, but there were always ways around it. Things could never quite reach the level of "friendship," but there was a certain comfort companionship gave. Impossible to admit, trapped in a miserable cycle of being friends but not. 

"So long as we just look properly bored or annoyed with each other, we'll be alright. I'll just think about your magic act," he teased. 

"How dare you," Aziraphale huffed, shoulders straight as he tried to look as displeased with him as possible. "I'll just have to think of your driving. And the way you bring up old conversations just to argue with me." Nevermind that he did that a fair amount as well.

"Tit for tat." He watched him puff up like an offended bird and reminded himself that demons touched. Everything was too cramped in Hell. There was no personal space. It was part of what made it awful, being jammed next to your neighbor. Too many desks. It was a very good excuse, he decided, and tucked the strip of tartan into his jacket pocket. Then he stepped closer and laid his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders. "Demons don't stand like good little soldiers, angel. Slouch a bit. Heaven may be stiff, but Hell is limp."

Aziraphale watched his hands as they moved, stiffening further before he acquiesced to his request. The coat was too thick to feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric, but the faint flicker of disappointment had expected it, so then he could. Warm, weighted, and… close. He hadn't touched him like this since they'd gone to the convent, searching for information on the missing Antichrist, and even then it had been more like a viper striking, lashing out in self-defense. It had lingered a little longer than necessary, grip tight in his lapels, hips nestled in the cradle of his own, and lips curled back in his best attempt at a snarl given how close they'd been. If they had needed to breathe, they would have shared the same breath.

This was not like that, though still an excuse to touch. It was like the comfortable coil of a serpent, much like the way he'd napped against him earlier that afternoon. Aziraphale tried to look past his own reflection's eyes in the dark lenses, seeking out Crowley's for a glimpse of what he was feeling. He hadn't gotten the chance to play along in the convent, interrupted for one and honestly surprised for another - not frightened though, never frightened.

"Slouch, yes… I wouldn't want it to appear too… too much like yours, so what- ah… How should I…?" Aziraphale made a small, barely there gesture with his hands so not to scare Crowley's touch away, trying to point at his shoulders. "You know. Stand." That could've gone better, he reflected, heat creeping up his neck and exposed collar.

Crowley watched the delicate wave of color, blowing out a soft breath that tried very hard to sound like a huff. "Just... Just relax, angel." His hands slipped a little further down his arms. "Pretend you don't actually care about things."

It was a delicate dance. He couldn't do too poorly of a job lest Crowley change his mind and go on without him. It would also give the demon no shortage of material with which to tease him about his acting prowess. Though in the end, it might've been worth it.

Aziraphale fought the shudder that tickled his spine, the touch an echo of a caress, and he more melted into it rather than slouched. "I'll do my best, given that something I care for very dearly is very… close to me. Right now."

Crowley's fingers flexed before he could stop them. He wanted to drag him even closer, the urge rippling through him. "If it's too difficult for a 'being of love,' I'll leave you here."

"Oh, no I'll be quite alright. My books won't be coming with us, you see, so-" His smile broke through the act, far too pleased with himself and letting it show before he collected himself again. "So sorry, my dear, I'll try again. How's this?" While bored was something he didn't think he could manage - how could one ever find anything boring about the Earth? - he could do annoyed with ease, so pretended he was being forced to listen to the unholiest of bebops and gave Crowley a dreary, weary look as he sagged beneath his hands.

He had to actively try and look at him like any passing demon and not as himself. All he saw was his angel, after all, and it was the sort of look that either made him want to tease more huffs out of him or offer to take him to lunch to soothe. But no one else would see an angel here. Just another demon. He gave in with a sigh. "You'll do. If anyone bumps into you down there, you'd better not do something ridiculous like apologize."

"Nonsense. I'll demand _they_ apologize. Or else!" Aziraphale made a fist, brandishing it like that fool Shadwell had with his harmless hand, if only to get another sigh out of the demon. "That's very demonic, don't you think?"

"Not in the slightest. No apologies. And don't start trying to threaten anybody. Like a bloody kitten, you are," he muttered. 

"Kittens have claws," Aziraphale reminded him, eyes twinkling as he lifted one hand to rest on Crowley's forearm, fingers curling in a light hold to avoid spooking him.

It didn't completely work, but the demon didn't immediately back away either. Insulted by his own nerves, he quickly banished them and simply arched a brow. "Yours must've been clipped."

"Not at all, my dear. You've just never given me a reason to show them to you." Aziraphale stroked his thumb against his sleeve, raising his eyebrows in response.

He glanced at his hand, his own fingers flexing again. He should stop holding on. Absolutely. He would. In a minute. "That's almost insulting. I've annoyed you plenty."

"Oh, yes. I won't argue that. But I don't feel threatened by you." He could feel Crowley's grip start to tremble, so he firmed up his own, squeezing gently.

"I- Ngk." He wasn't used to this, very ill-equipped after so many centuries of avoiding this sort of nearness. "You're not s'posed to."

His heart constricted with a tender ache that bled into his expression. "Oh, Crowley," he sighed with all the reverence of a regency romance. His hand slipped, moving down the demon's arm until their skin touched and fingers brushed. "I know, dearest."

Crowley finally took a step, but it was forward. Fabric rustled where it brushed between them and he almost swore. Fucking limbs, doing whatever they wanted. "Aziraphale," he tried, but didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to put in the space between himself and the line he was very tempted to cross. 

The angel made a soft sound to soothe him and his free hand settled against the angle of his cheek. The urge to see his eyes struck him in the core of his very being, sharp and sudden and unable to be shaken. Aziraphale took a steadying breath, gaze fluttering between the sunglasses and his jawline where it rested in the curve of his palm.

"Crowley… your glasses, dear, may I…?"

He forgot how to speak for a moment. Had his heart needed to beat, it would be galloping in his chest. He could almost feel it anyway, giving him a small nod just to feel that soft hand in the barest mimicry of a caress. He'd cross the line if his angel let him. He'd just never let his very busy imagination dwell on this for long before. "Anything," he managed, a little crack, a little hiss in the permission.

Aziraphale's eyes widened, a silent gasp of awe parting his lips. He could hear it, how much he meant it. He could feel it. That Crowley trusted him just as much, after everything. Sliding the sunglasses down and away from his face, he basked in the golden light of his eyes, stare focused entirely on him.

"There you are," he murmured, radiance rising to the surface again as he saw everything he felt reflected right back at him, laid bare and just as much his to protect as anything else on Earth.

There were a dozen other things he probably should have done, but Crowley felt more moth than snake. Drawn to the light even to the point of destruction, he let himself press snugly against the angel. He glanced down at his mouth, back up to his eyes and found nothing that said he should step away. "If you let me do this, I dunno when I'll stop."

"If _we_ do this, I won't want you to." Aziraphale tightened his grip on his hand, his gaze dropping to his lips. "Not ever."

It loosened something in Crowley's chest, permission and an equal want unable to be resisted. Their lips were a breath apart when he felt a dark crackle of energy that was definitely not him in the room. 

Popcorn crunched, Bill's delighted tones nothing short of infuriating. "Oh, don't stop on my account. I never mind a show."

Their cheeks nearly brushed as they both turned their heads to face him, the golden glow of the moment snuffed out in a single breath as Aziraphale sighed wearily, feeling Crowley's chest move with his with how close they still stood. "I suppose we should have thought to ward our quarters as well."

"Aw, don't be like that, Angel Cake."

Crowley stepped away so he could snarl effectively. "Wot."

A piece of popcorn was tossed up, landing where his mouth should be and vanishing. "C'mon, Snake Eyes, I thought you'd agree. Looked like you were about to get a piece."

Aziraphale laid a staying hand on Crowley's arm as he bristled. "Come now, Crowley. He's only trying to get under your skin. We mustn't give him the satisfaction." Holier-than-thou tone slipping into place, the angel raised an eyebrow as he appraised the triangle. "What do you want?"

"Why don't you tell me? You seem to have me all figured out." Sarcasm dripped. "So much smarter than us demons."

"Not all demons." Aziraphale looked at the sunglasses he still held, then handed them to Crowley. "But most of them, yes. Certainly more so than those who are fool enough to discorporate themselves." And if Crowley said _anything_ about his own discorporation, then he would steal all his plants and give them more love than they could stand.

Thankfully for Crowley - and unfortunately for his plants - he was wise enough to keep quiet. He didn't want to give Cipher any inkling of an upper hand anyway, irritation fluttering over his skin. He should've stopped time. Nothing would've bothered them then. 

"Oh, please," Bill dismissed. "Like I need the limitations of a meat sack to do what I want."

"If you didn't, then why haven't you accomplished anything yet?" Aziraphale wondered, hands clasped behind his back. "You've had, what was it, my dear? Four thousand years?" 

Oh, his angel. "Closer to six, really."

Red ringed around Bill's eye. "I'm beyond this little scrap of Earth. I've ripped into it until it's barely even attached." 

Crowley slid his glasses back on, amused. "You still look like you're here to me."

The building shook around them, something he shouldn't be substantial enough to do. "Barely. And there won't be a _here_ much longer."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances for a moment, but didn't linger. "Not if we have anything to say on the matter." Aziraphale went to straighten his bowtie, but forgot it was very much not there. He tugged on his collar instead, adjusting it as if he'd meant to all along. "We'll stop you."

"It's cute that you think that since you can't even stop making goo-goo eyes at each other for five minutes. Loving the outfit, though, Angel Cake. I didn't think your kind would be into roleplay."

"Well, I-" That seemed to trip him up, Aziraphale hesitating as he pulled the trenchcoat closed at the collar. "I don't need to explain what I'm doing to you. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that."

"Aw, would you?" A piece of paper and a pencil appeared. "I'll make a note of that, Angel Cake."

"You're very rude. And I believe it's getting rather late." He hinted pointedly, it was the only way he knew how to get rid of demons - well, one demon. "We do have quite a bit we'd like to get back to, so…" Still clutching his coat, he made a shooing motion with his free hand. 

He popped away only to appear right behind the angel. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news... Oh, who am I kidding? I _love_ it. But demons aren't polite. Hell, angels are barely polite. Snake Eyes has been spoiling you."

"You need to leave him be, Cipher," Crowley hissed. "Or I'll make you regret it."

There might've been a reaction, a flicker of red in his eye, a spasm like television static. "I don't think I need to listen to an angel fucker."

Crowley reached out, quick and as lethal as a snake should be. For a moment, there was a solid form in his grasp. In the next, the triangle disappeared to the other side of the room with a cackle. "Didn't like-" 

With a snap the entire room swallowed the sound of Bill's voice, blessed with the intent to protect the two inhabitants from its grating sound. "There. That is quite enough of that." There was an iciness to his glare, one that only ebbed as the demon displayed visible frustration at being muted. 

His eye flashed a deep, bloody red, and then the triangular discorporation was gone again. 

Crowley pressed a hand to his temple, focusing hard, and gave Aziraphale a satisfied half-wave. "Back into the woods. Hastur's with him."

"Good. They can be crude beasts together." Aziraphale straightened his trench coat and hat with a huff, then looked to his demon. "I suppose we'd best be off then, before he gets any idea of what we're doing."

Crowley stared at him for a beat. "You _still_ want to go? He's not particularly odd for a demon. His _mouth_ , anyway."

"Of course I'm still coming, Crowley. He caught me off guard is all. Once I'm properly in character, I won't be so easily rattled." He looked more annoyed with himself for a moment, then gestured to Crowley. "I do think your old pair of sunglasses would be a good idea though. Might help with the act."

A snap and he had them, offering them and trying to push aside where they'd been just before the unwelcome arrival. "I think you handled him fine, angel. He left, didn't he? You even got his eye back to normal."

Aziraphale took them, but refrained from putting them on just yet as his gaze softened. "Really? Well… the way he was talking to you was just… unacceptable. He likes the sound of his own voice too much, I think. Thought without that he'd have no reason to hang around taunting us."

"Well, you were right. He can complain to Hastur. We won't be here for him to bother us and the kids are safe."

"Precisely." Aziraphale gave him a long, considering look while he still had the chance before he covered his eyes. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"Fine, angel. Heard worse." He snapped, clothes shifting. 

The suit was simple, not as fitted as he usually preferred and such a deep red that it may as well have been black. His sunglasses, too much a part of him, also changed. Simple and round, ancient in their style as if he'd picked up one pair and never bothered again. A bowler hat popped into his hands and he frowned at it, flipping it around and changing its form. He couldn't wear a fedora, though. 

"Hm. Newsy cap, y'think? Different enough from you." 

"Oh yes." Aziraphale beamed at him. "When I saw those come into fashion, I did think you would've looked darling in one." 

Maybe not what the demon wanted to hear when trying to be extra demony, but it was what he'd honestly thought. He'd even debated buying one for him as an apology for the holy water incident, except he never saw him while they were popular. The world had moved on by the time Crowley reappeared in his life, and the demon was never one to take on a trend long since passed.

Crowley shook his head, flipping the hat over again and securing it over hair that lost much of its fluff. "Even back then?" 

"Yes." While he was being honest, he might as well continue where it counted. "And what do you know? Even better than I imagined. It suits you, my dear." 

"Does it? Mm." As pleased with himself as he was with his angel's compliments, Crowley gave the hat a little tug. He'd brought bum bags back, so how hard could a hat be? "I think these old things are coming back into style. Might start wearing one when we're home."

"It's something to consider." Aziraphale slipped on his borrowed sunglasses. "Well, then. Shall we be on our way?"

He wanted to ask if Aziraphale was sure, but already knew the answer. "May as well."

\----

Dipper wasn't sure how he felt about the story Wirt told him, his Mindscape sounding so different from Grunkle Stan's. But then all minds _should_ be unique, tailored to them. The idea that he had all three of his homes pooled together was interesting. He didn't usually think of Piedmont as _home_ , per se, but being there after Christmas had made him think of Wirt. Cuddling by the tree, waiting for cocoa and presents, holding hands in the kitchen, snuggling on the couch, sleeping close in his bed, and a dozen other snapshots that made it feel okay while waiting for summer. That was home for him, so he hoped Wirt had that of him to hold onto in Lakeville. He hoped it helped like it sounded like his subconscious - or his sum - had seemed to help. 

It was also a relief to know that Aziraphale was most definitely an angel. Their trust in him wasn't misplaced and, it seemed, it wasn't in Crowley despite the similarities in his and Bill's eyes. Hastur's had been like two pits, endless and disconcerting, so it wasn't even an excuse to say demons had similar eyes. And shouldn't a snake's eyes be different from a pyramid's? From the way Aziraphale had phrased it, it felt like Crowley was the _only_ snake among demons. 

But none of them were completely sure if the snake thing was even literal. It was written literally, but... 

Dipper tapped the pages of his journal, filled with the details of the short trip. Only one thing bothered him. "It was really _just_ a feather?" 

Wirt lifted his head from where he was leaning against him, soaking up their time together now that Greg was getting ready for bed and Mabel was likely catching Pacifica, Candy, and Grenda up on all that had been going on. The news of the fire in town had spread like- well, wildfire, and since Dipper had been spotted at the scene of the incident, of course the girls had questions. Miraculously they didn't smell like smoke at all, and Wirt wondered if that was part of whatever Crowley had done to them earlier to clear the smoke from their lungs.

Right now they just smelled like laundry detergent and syrup from the waffles, a scent Wirt was happy to inhale as he pressed close. "Yeah. It really was. Gold, but like a yellowy gold, and Aziraphale just… disintegrated it like it was nothing. And that was that."

That was precisely what bothered him. He'd been too groggy to question it, too involved in their plans to get rid of Bill once and for all, and then he'd gone outside again with Aziraphale standing over him as he'd dug up the moonstone yet again. He hadn't felt - or couldn't remember - something malicious slipping in and had no idea that the stone he'd dropped back into the hole hadn't been moonstone at all. Or, well, moonstone that would miraculously disintegrate right after it created the barrier. They'd all seen it go back up and were all satisfied. 

Awake and alert, Dipper was not satisfied. "If my subconscious told you it's been traveling around for four years, blocking and making it - _me_ \- glitch, why was it that easy to find?" 

"Yeah, that's what I asked Aziraphale." Wirt frowned as his gaze drifted down to Dipper's notes, though he didn't really see them. "He said Crowley must've been much better at finding things than Bill was at hiding… then after Crowley's- I guess homing beacon would be the right way to describe it? After it was gone, he told me that Crowley has a really strong sense when it comes to demonic and angelic energy. Stronger with demonic, but still capable of both. He figured that if he'd sensed anything else, he wouldn't have left. But I don't know… it _was_ in a locker. How could it have been moving around if it was stuck in a locker?"

"Exactly. And what if... I mean, it's Bill. He's always got some kind of backup plan. And if Crowley was only looking for Bill and he's got more than one piece in my head, maybe... Maybe the lines got crossed. Maybe I should've asked him to look again after I woke up." He bit the end of his pen, sending Wirt an uneasy look. "I don't _feel_ different, Wirt. I really thought I would."

Wirt pursed his lips, searching Dipper's gaze for something that maybe didn't look like it belonged to his boyfriend. "What do you feel like?" he asked, when he couldn't see anything other than Dipper's racing mind.

"I... Still worried. Still... There's always something," he admitted with a whisper, averting his gaze. He should've said. He hadn't wanted to worry. He _never_ did. "I just always thought, like, it was phantom sensations of something pulling strings but it's _not_ gone."

Wirt had worried, too. He'd wondered if they shouldn't stay in just a bit longer, looked a little deeper to make absolutely sure there wasn't a trace of Bill left. But how could he question an angel? Beings that had more power than any human ever could. What did he know about the Mindscape anyway? He was just a chaperone, to make sure Dipper felt safe and comfortable with a foreign entity combing through his mind.

Though he supposed Dipper didn't feel very safe or comfortable now… "We could probably ask them to look again. When they come back from Hell?" Wirt took Dipper's hand in his and squeezed. "If we just explained how you're feeling, maybe they wouldn't mind."

"Maybe they haven't left yet? I don't really know the specifics on coming and going to a different plane of existence."

"Maybe… Do you want to try calling them?"

"Yeah. It can't hurt to take one more look and if he really doesn't feel any other pieces of Bill, then maybe it _is_ just my imagination. I just need to know for sure, Wirt."

"I get it." Wirt brushed their lips together. "I'd want to know, too. And it's your mind. No one knows it better than you." He handed Dipper his phone, both of them working through the list of contacts to see what Mabel had entered them as because they didn't find them under C for Crowley or A for Aziraphale. "Wait, what's that?" he asked as they stopped in H.

"'Husbandemon and Husbangel,'" Dipper read with a sigh. "Plus, the number is international."

"Yeah, but she texted them. About that demon that set the fire." Wirt frowned. "They must have… I dunno, blessed it? Cursed it? Magicked it so it would work no matter what, maybe."

"My whole brain hates this because it doesn't feel like a real word, but miracled?" 

"I mean… I think that's the word they actually use themselves. Using it as a verb instead of a noun." Wirt shrugged. "I just wouldn't think that anything a demon did would count as a miracle. Even if it's a good thing. I don't know, I think my brain's at its limit at this point."

"That's okay, pilgrim. I still like your brain, broken or not." Dipper kissed his temple, smile fond. 

He huffed out a laugh, knocking their shoulders together as he watched Dipper press the call button and turn on speakerphone. It rang once, then three beeps steadily increasing in pitch chimed from the speakers. " _We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is out of service or is currently in the bowels of Hell. Please try again later_ ," the automated woman's voice recited. " _Unless this is Hastur. In which case, fuck you_."

"Wow. Um. Okay." Wirt blinked at the specificity.

Dipper shook his head, brows lifting. "Well... I guess it's a good thing we didn't do that while Greg was in the room."

"Yeah, you can say that again," he sighed shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, so um… guess they're in Hell."

"Yeah. I'd love to know the specifics of getting in and out of there," Dipper mused, putting his phone on the nightstand. "I should probably go see if Grunkle Ford will take a look at my sigil. And, y'know, make sure he's okay with his experiments."

"Okay." Wirt watched him for a minute, inwardly debating something before he tried giving voice to it. "Um… if you still wanted… I mean, I'm not- there's probably nothing I could do, but- If you think it would help, I could take a look. Go back in with your mindscape spell."

Dipper cupped his cheek. "I think, from the sounds of it, having you wouldn't do any harm. I don't know that it works the same if I'm awake anyway, so... Open invite. If you think it's necessary tonight, you can jump in."

Wirt shrugged, but nuzzled into his palm and placed his hand over it to keep his touch. "Okay. Good to know." Unless Dipper seemed really agitated about it, he didn't think he'd need to take such measures since there really wasn't much he could do, but the permission was good to have nonetheless.

"It'll be okay, babe. I'm not worried about it for one more night. It's probably nothing anyway."

"I don't think it's nothing if you're honestly concerned. And I mean, it's probably better to err on the side of caution when it comes to Bill. We don't want to underestimate him, right?"

"Yeah. I think... maybe Crowley and Aziraphale have? They definitely don't take him as seriously as we do."

"No, but I mean… I guess they have similar powers to him, so it's not like they're at a disadvantage with him the way we are." Wirt shrugged. "So on the one hand I don't blame them, but on the other… they haven't seen what he's capable of the way we have."

"I don't really want them to. So I'm a big fan of the plan."

"Yeah. Anything that ends with him destroyed for good, I'm a fan of, too." Wirt managed a small smile, perking up as the thought occurred to him. "Besides, if he's destroyed, if he did leave anything else behind, it wouldn't matter, right? He'd be gone. He wouldn't be in control anymore."

Or would any pieces of his soul left be able to regenerate him like something a certain boy wizard had dealt with? And it was _so_ weird to think of himself as a horcrux. "Yeah," he said instead. "I'll still ask Crowley to look again when they get back. Hopefully it's by morning since we couldn't even leave a message."

"Yeah… I wonder how time passes in Hell. If it's the same as up here, or more like the Unknown where it's a bit…" Wirt wobbled his hand back and forth. "You know?"

"Mmhm. I'm curious too, honestly. I don't know how willing they'll be to answer questions after all this. Crowley barely gives complete answers as it is."

Wirt's lips quirked up. "He's just too cool to answer questions. Though it's probably mostly to offset Aziraphale," he chuckled. "Well, who knows? Maybe they'll come over as soon as they have the statue at like… Three am."

"I think he and Greg are the only ones who would call him 'cool,'" Dipper joked. "Neither of them are. But I'd be fine with that early of an arrival if it means no Bill. I'll make you some tea so you'll be fine too."

"Aw, I love you, boyfriend." Wirt scrunched his nose and leaned in to rub it against Dipper's. "Now go talk to your Grunkle Ford. I'll take a shower or something while you're busy. Check on Greg, make sure he's actually going to sleep after that sugar rush from all the syrup."

"Hopefully he is. I know Mabel's decided to stay up and knit, and there's something weirdly relaxing about listening to the needles clicking. It should help him, really. It used to drag me to sleep whether I wanted it to or not." But Dipper had to steal a kiss before getting up, soft and lingering and filled with the love his sum had surrounded Wirt with in his mind. "Go ahead, though. I'll be back up soon."

It was true enough, though he wasn't quite _Dipper_ by the time he reached the basement far below the Mystery Shack. He was smiling far too wide, his eyes golden and unnatural, and Dipper was inside screaming. Fighting so very hard, sure, but still screaming for his boyfriend and for freedom. 

But oh, no, Bill had learned. The boy was dangerous when he was free. Freed, Dipper could communicate and Bill didn't want any of that. The angel thought he could be silenced with a parlor trick? And _Crowley_. What a disappointment. He'd risk his own life for an _angel_? Worse, he had _feelings_ for one. _The_ one. 

Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Gifter of the Flaming Sword, had been a thorn in Bill's side for centuries. In and out of humans for eons and every single one had that common thread, that _memory_ of a nervously friendly rescue. Like a promise to keep them all safe, even in spite of God, and it had given every human _hope_. He should've fallen then and there, in Bill's opinion. What a blatant show of free will. 

How could Crowley not _hate_ him? What angel had ever been able to display free will safely before? It had been just that desire that had resulted in the Fall to begin with. How did Crowley not find that so _unfair_? 

Bill found him exceptionally unfair and he had a plan for that. If Hell itself didn't find the duo traipsing through its bowels, Bill would use the Hellfire Hastur was fetching. The least the idiot could do was find some and let it slip to Beelzebub that a traitor and his angelic boyfriend were down for a visit. They didn't have to know why. Hastur didn't even know why, Bill preferring not to give anyone any ideas. 

Besides, they didn't know the _real_ plan or his real ambition. Why would he want a single measly planet when he could open dimensions? Once the world was being ravaged by a war between Heaven and Hell, Bill could use Dipper's body to recreate the portal and there you go! He'd bring in things worse than any angel or demon could fathom and let them all destroy each other. He wanted _worlds_ and he'd have them. 

He deserved them. 

As the elevator opened, gold eyes faded to brown and his smile went easy. He strolled through Ford's laboratory, recognizing the changes four years had wrought through Dipper's memories but seeing with fresh eyes for himself. Gleaming counters, scrubbed walls, formulas bubbling and calculations on the walls. 

And Ford himself, sound asleep. Bill could've killed him. He was tempted, but his gaze traveled along the formulas and notes, familiar enough with Ford that he understood every vague note he found. He reached for the bottle of sleeping pills he'd notated as being too strong for work nights but more than suitable for a long weekend. He really needed Dipper to stop fighting him so much, so shook a pill out into his hand and swallowed it dry. 

He could feel the body sagging almost immediately, Dipper's consciousness yanked away and making him so very easy to tuck aside. It made his subconscious easier to handle as well, making it glitch over and over again. All it needed to do was keep the meat sack running until Bill fully remembered how. He'd been without a true body for too long.

But he was ready to play with it, he decided as he made his way back up the elevator and into the kitchen. A nice, sharp knife was slipped out from a drawer. He dug the tip into Dipper's thumb, pain a delicious burn as red swelled out of and dripped from the little nick. Perfect. The tattoo was useless, but he'd love to destroy it even more. 

Ooh, maybe he could plunge the thing into Music Note's back while he slept. Well, he definitely could. But would it be as fun? No. 

He smiled at his concern when he made his way back into the attic bedroom. Wirt fussed over the little drops of blood, believing Bill's easy grin and, "You know how Grunkle Ford's lab can be, babe. It was just an accident. At least my tattoo's okay."

He loved the feeling of relief that flowed from him at that news only because Bill knew it was for nothing. He really didn't care that Wirt's worry was gone when it would come crashing down soon enough. He could already feel his power seeping in thanks to the piece of his soul that had been left four years earlier. No thanks, however, to the simple feather he'd left mere hours before. 

Bill let Dipper's body fall asleep with a smile and a knife beneath his pillow. It was time for the games to begin. 

\----

As three rolled around, no angel or demon appeared with a statue. Instead, Dipper's brow furrowed and he shifted closer to his boyfriend. He let out a soft noise, the frightened little sound one normally reserved for the onset of a nightmare.

Wirt's eyelids fluttered open, sleep more on the restless side as his worries steadily chugged along in his brain even with the reassurances that things were okay for now. He blinked in the dark and listened. When another quiet sound came from beside him, Wirt shifted from his back to his side, barely making out Dipper's huddled up form under their shared blanket. He looped an arm around his waist, stroking his side as he made a soothing shushing sound. When that didn't seem to work, the tension tightening along his spine, Wirt pulled him closer.

"It's okay, Dipper," he murmured. "Just a dream."

The more he tried to comfort him, the more he woke himself up until he was alert enough to realize this was maybe one of the nightmares from last summer. Something he couldn't shake and needed to escape. The part of him that slept in fits had a paralyzing thought, _what if it's Bill?_ But that didn't make sense. They were safe. They were in the barrier. It couldn't be Bill.

"Dipper?" Wirt sat up a little, stroking his hair. "Shh… it's okay. I'm here. It's just a dream, Dipper. You can wake up."

A shiver ran through him as he watched his breath cloud as he spoke. The temperature was dropping. Wirt sucked in a gasp and glanced around quickly, the shadows on his walls weaving just so. He hugged Dipper tighter, wary as he scanned their surroundings before dropping his gaze back to his boyfriend.

"Wake up, Dipper." He shook him a little, needing him to wake up. "Dipper!"

"Hush, Music Note. You don't want to wake him." Bill hovered above Dipper's desk, smile felt more than seen. "Sleep's important for growing boys."

His breath rushed out of him in a panic and Wirt's head snapped around to look at him over Dipper. He pulled him closer to the wall with him, suddenly understanding the fear of not being between someone you love and dangers in the dark. "You're-!" he choked out, gaze frantically flicking between the fear on his boyfriend's face and the triangle above the desk. "How are you- how are you here? The barrier-!"

"Barrier-shmarrier." This was already better than dealing with the angel and his fellow demon. Torturing humans was always better. "There's always a way, Music Note."

"No, there can't be. Other- other demons tried and they couldn't get in, so how- how did you? What did you do?" He raised his voice, but it still trembled like a branch in a storm, just on the verge of breaking. It should've woken Dipper up. He didn't sleep this deeply. 

"Oh, tsk, tsk. Don't fret, Music Note. All I did was get a little help from downstairs." He drifted closer, cracking his knuckles, and knocked the third journal to the floor in passing. "Your little tattoos don't block out _all_ demonic influence and, really, he just needed a little push. Just a moment alone, outside the house. A little dice and dash."

He stopped just above their heads, singular eye blinking almost harmlessly. "Now that's enough yelling, don't you think? You'll wake everybody else. Except... Well, not our favorite Pine Tree." Bill laughed. "He's not waking up tonight! I've made sure of that. So nice of old Stanford to make some heavy duty sleeping pills. Gotta love a guy who can never sleep. But this one's never waking up again. I'll make sure of it." With that, he tapped his cane against Dipper's head and vanished. It took only a second for Dipper's entire body to convulse, his outcry wounded, and still he slept.

"No! Get out of him! Dipper!" Wirt grabbed his shoulders to keep him from thrashing too hard. "Dipper, wake up!"

He was in too deep. The sleeping pills had already taken effect. Wirt cringed as he shook him, heart hammering in his chest when nothing changed. The night terror wouldn't relinquish its grip on him. The air around them only got colder, and as the temperature dropped Wirt's desperation rose. Begging softly - _please wake up, fight him, I love you_ \- Wirt found he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do if Dipper couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- wake up. 

Grabbing the phone from his nightstand, Wirt fumbled to dial the last number in the call history. "Please, pick up," he prayed as it rang once, then the same disconnected beeping grated against his ears. "No, no, no…" He tried again, but the same thing happened. 

Wirt hung up on a hiccuping gasp, phone slipping from his grip as he pressed his hands over his mouth. What could they do? Bill was here. Bill had Dipper, he was in his mind-

In his mind. Wirt looked over at the desk, at the third journal, open on the floor. He was off the bed in a heartbeat, picking it up, ready to thumb through it. He had permission, an open invitation. If he couldn't get him to wake up from out here, then he'd have to go in there to get him. To get Bill out. He could do that.

There was still a squirt bottle of holy water on the desk. Wirt grabbed it along with the book, then turned on the bedside lamp. He squinted against the sudden flood of light, blinking as it took precious seconds for his eyes to adjust. A full bodied shudder rippled through him as he glimpsed the dark image of Bill Cipher, his name and warnings littering the pages. While he'd seen the pages since last dealing with the demon, Wirt never let his gaze linger for too long on them whenever Dipper flipped through journal number three. _Do not summon at all costs. Whatever you do, don't let him into your mind._

"Little too late for that for both of us." Wirt glanced up from the journal to his boyfriend still writhing on the bed, strangled cries wrung out from his throat. "Okay, okay, where's the spell?"

He flipped to the next page, skimming the text for the words to allow him passage into Dipper's mind. Wirt sat on the edge of his bed, squirt bottle cradled in the crook of his arm as he held the journal open with one hand and the other pressed to Dipper's brow, skin clammy and cold. He stroked over it once to soothe, trying not to tremble too much.

Wirt licked his lips and cleared his throat, speaking the words he'd said only hours before. But this time he wasn't meeting an angel inside his boyfriend's mind. No, he was going alone and a demon was waiting for him. Ready to destroy the person he loved. His gaze flicked up to Dipper's face and his resolve was strengthened. It had to work. He had to try.

There was that same flash, then the darkness, and then the gray. He was at the edge of the woods again, in front of the shifting house. It was the same place he and Aziraphale had met, but it wasn't an angel with him now. 

"Well, well, well." Bill floated down, hovering on the porch as the building settled into a bizarre hybrid of the three places Dipper called home. "Welcome to the party, Music Note!"

"Thanks, but I'm not really a party kind of guy." He lifted the squirt bottle fast and squeezed the trigger, dousing Bill in a fine mist of holy water-

That evaporated into thin air before a single drop even made contact. Wirt gasped as the bottle started to smoke, the plastic edges starting to melt as it burned in his hand and he dropped it. It exploded as it hit the ground, water seeping into the gray grass. He cradled his hand to his chest, his palm smarting with the mere idea of being burned, even if his actual skin had been unharmed. So much for that plan.

"Nice try, kid!" Bill cackled. "But it's gonna take a lot more than some dime store plastic and glorified angel spit to take me down!"

"Just get out of here, Bill! Leave him alone!" Wirt demanded, and tried not to think about how pathetic he must've looked, making demands to a demon in his pajamas, his only weapon essentially disintegrated. 

It didn't matter though, Dipper still needed his help. Wirt's gaze flickered between the demon and the front door to the house. If he could get to that sum guy, maybe he could help him. Maybe he'd know how to wake Dipper up. But Bill was in his way, floating right between them, twirling his cane.

"That would be so boring, though, after all this hard work. Heaven and Hell want their war, Music Note, and I think the first battle is right here behind door number two." A wave of his hand opened what Aziraphale hadn't been allowed to, but Bill had his claws in now. And, cackling, he zipped right into the chaotic building with the door slamming behind him. 

"No! Dipper!" Wirt cried out, running up to the porch only to freeze at the threshold. What if it was a trap? Clearly Bill wanted him to follow, this was all part of his plan. 

But he couldn't just leave him alone in Dipper's mind.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, mouth set in a firm, determined line, Wirt gripped the doorknob tightly. He twisted it and pushed it open, slipping into the next layer of Dipper's mind. "Dipper?" he called out, searching for the sum.

The color was there, like it had been before. With boards and books and instruments. At the desk, two of the three monitors were blank, but the middle held Dipper. The real Dipper, outside of his mind. He was curled in bed. No longer thrashing, his eyes were closed peacefully with Wirt draped over him at the awkward angle he'd been left in after leaving his body to search Dipper's mind. 

Dipper started to shift, moving as if to get around Wirt's body and stand, and Bill was suddenly floating in Wirt's face. He leaned against his cane. "This is boring. You wanted to know how to get to Hell, right?" he taunted and the floor beneath Wirt's feet opened and down he went.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Hell.

Any demon would prefer Earth over Hell, which was exactly why the demonic lot had been more likely to visit its surface over the years than the opposition. They'd popped in and out, possessing humans, stirring up trouble in tiny ways, and everyone had left Crowley alone because they'd all assumed - partially because he'd lied on compliance reports - that he was stirring up trouble in big ways. If they'd known most of it all had been humanity itself, no demonic intervention needed, he'd have probably been dragged back down for a desk job. 

Though, after making it a point to visit as little as possible over the centuries, Crowley couldn't actually remember the last time he hadn't gone through the front door. His job had always been above ground and he'd liked it there even before slithering up to a certain angel. It shouldn't have been a surprise that they'd landed in a storage unit filled near to bursting with desks, but it made him grimace as much as the dirt the back entrances always required. 

He brushed loose soil off his shoulders, but left it smudged on his cheeks, and reached out for Aziraphale's wrist before it could come down. "None of that, angel. A Heavenly miracle will reverberate through here like a bomb. You can handle a touch of dirt for a bit." Though he silently rid him of most of it anyway. It was the scent that mattered more than the actual soil. 

"Right, so sorr-" The apology died on the tip of his tongue, so Aziraphale switched to a well-practiced huff as he relegated himself to merely dusting off the sleeves of his coat. He hesitated when he realized the demonic miracle that had likely taken place when his fingers came away clean, and it took everything in him not to send Crowley the most grateful of smiles. "Right," he said again, pitching his voice a bit lower than usual, a bit more gruff. "Obviously. Not bothered by dirt, don't be ridiculous."

He almost sounded drunk, Crowley mused, just without the slurring. It was a good thing he'd had centuries to act like he wasn't gone over him because it was easy enough to angle his head and scowl a little. He let his accent shift when he spoke, thicken into more of a Scottish brogue. "Obviously not. Just keep at it and we'll be alright. You ready?" 

"Waiting on you." Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to go ahead of him, the normally polite gesture tainted by an annoyed impatience, like he was holding him up.

The gray, dingy halls were just as depressing as the angel remembered from his brief stint down here. At least this time he wasn't being manhandled by jeering demons and hadn't been bludgeoned with a crowbar. The headache hadn't lasted long, the throbbing pain dulled with a quick miracle right before he passed out, but it was the principle of the matter, really.

Aziraphale shoved his hands into his pockets, channeling some of what he'd done as Crowley into his act, and also to keep the temptation to perform any miracles at bay. The air was filled with the faint odor of rotten eggs and something dead, with a tinge of mildew thanks to the humidity pressing down on them as soon as they stepped out of the dank storage space. Aziraphale schooled his expression into something that wasn't offended by the environment, like this place was no different than his bookshop or that bakery on Greek St.

He did, though, raise an eyebrow and the poster on the wall directly ahead of him. _There's nowhere to go. Stop trying._ Enlightening.

"Motivational posters," Crowley murmured and waved a hand dismissively to also dull the smell for him, lighten the thick coat to accommodate the wet heat. Hell didn't have to _be_ Hell, not for his angel. 

Said angel noticed the changes immediately, glancing at Crowley from behind his sunglasses for a change. His 'thank you' was swallowed down and replaced with the kind of look he reserved for potential customers daring to stroke the binding of one of his books. So much for trying to act like they didn't like each other; if anyone noticed Crowley's demonic miracles were acts of service for him, they'd have to come up with quite the story. But he didn't exactly want to discourage it either… It was unbearably sweet. Very like Crowley.

"Well, they're working. I feel very motivated. Motivated to get the- _Heaven_ out of here," he grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

"Wasn't planning on taking my time." And he'd be more worried about the miracles himself if they weren't common. No amount of time in Hell really got one _used_ to it. It was the point of Hell, really. As soon as one horror became commonplace, a new one took its place in an endless cycle. Crowley had helped out here and there, taking credit for ideas humans had had in their boundless worries over Hell's torments, and actually having ideas of his own when he'd been feeling particularly vindictive over some slight. Hastur and Ligur had never been shy about their distaste for him, the two of them always on a level above. It's as if they'd known all along that his commitment was tenuous at best. He'd been happy to add some misery to their existences. 

At least one of them was gone for good. The other one, well, Crowley was already a traitor. If the opportunity presented itself, he'd take it. What was one less demon in the grand scheme of things? 

Pleased with the thoughts, Crowley found them more than demony enough to remember that he did, on some level, belong in Hell and knew what he was doing there. Aziraphale didn't, but was that _really_ different from anyone else? 

Well. Yes. Not knowing what he was doing because he was better than Hell was vastly different from being broken and rattled. Same concept, however. He was doing his best to blend in, though, and really not doing the worst job at it. The demons they passed in the narrow halls didn't pay them any mind besides the usual grumbling and snarling when elbows knocked. 

There was a very crude map in a poorly lit stairwell, upside down and placed against a sidewall so one had to stop on the steps to look at it. Crowley barely glanced at it. "Dagon's files are our best bet to start. S'where we're headed."

Aziraphale only just stopped himself from tilting his head far enough to make the map make sense to him. "Fine." Short, clipped answers were best. They conveyed ambivalence, and could easily be interpreted as snarky or belligerent. "Satan knows _that_ will be a disaster to sort through. Where're they kept again?"

"Few floors down. Near Lord Beelzebub's office." Crowley shrugged, hoping she wouldn't be at her desk. "Shit job, but someone's gotta do it, eh?" 

"You mean people actually do their jobs around here?" 

Crowley swallowed a snicker. That had sounded just a little too genuine. "Eventually."

Aziraphale's lips quirked up slightly, pleased by the demon's amusement. "That should be another motivational poster."

"We'll make one if we've got time." It could be a good time for them both because Crowley had little doubt that the records would be disastrous to sort through. And they already had to spend time going down the stairs because Aziraphale simply wouldn't be able to handle the lift. It usually caught fire and there was only one kind that flared in Hell. Not worth the risk. "Bet you'd come up with a few worthwhile ones."

"Wouldn't be hard." Aziraphale adjusted his sunglasses, making sure his eyes were adequately concealed as he started down the stairwell. "Do you think Lord Beelzebub will be around? Or Lord Dagon?"

"Around, sure. Away from their offices? Preferably." But it would be impossible to know for sure, even for him. The presence of demons was too overwhelming to pick out one or two specific ones. "Regardless, we'll just do our thing and get going."

Aziraphale nodded, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Crowley was sauntering along after him. As such, he wasn't prepared for the door on the next landing to swing open, stopping him in his tracks as a demon joined them in the stairwell. Aziraphale froze for a second, fear spiking that perhaps he'd unwittingly summoned the two princes of Hell by simply mentioning them, but that fear ebbed quickly. It was not Beelzebub or Dagon.

A demon with long eyelashes and hair carefully sculpted into something that resembled horns looked over at them. Aziraphale clenched his fists in his pockets, choosing not to wave and smile politely. Instead he glowered at him, the effect somewhat mitigated by the sunglasses and hat covering much of his face, but at least he felt like he looked impassive and intimidating. 

Crowley thought he looked like an agitated cream puff, but then the demon took a step back and something like recognition flickered over his features. Intimidated recognition, but he definitely knew who he was looking at. 

And only Crowley knew why. He'd hoped that this was one of the dozens of other disposable demons, but there was no such thing as luck in Hell. He surged forward as the demon stepped back towards the door, and snatched him up just as his fingertips brushed the handle. When Crowley slammed him against the wall, it wasn't at all how he'd manhandled Aziraphale. This was actual violence, his snarl very real. There wasn't a chance for him to brace himself against the wall, no consideration for his head. It thumped against the wall solidly and it was darkly satisfying. He'd wanted to do something similar in Heaven, looking at him through Aziraphale's eyes. 

_"Can I hit him?"_ the demon had asked, eager as anything with Hellfire inches away. _"Always wanted to hit an angel."_

And the Archangels, in their passive holier-than-thou ways, had said yes. The demon masquerading as an angel had very silently convinced him that perhaps he shouldn't risk it. 

"S'the matter?" Crowley growled, low enough not to echo in the stairwell but loud enough to make the lesser demon swallow. "Looks like you've seen a ghost."

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, stopping just shy of pulling him off the demon. There had been some recognition there, though the angel could quite honestly say that he'd never seen this demon in all his time on Earth. But that didn't mean he himself hadn't been seen.

"My dear, is this really necessary?" Keeping his voice low, he laid a staying hand on Crowley's arm, glancing around to make sure no one else was in the stairwell with them. 

If it hadn't been, calling him his dear would've been a dead giveaway. Crowley's jaw clenched. "You remember the demon who brought Hellfire up to your attempted execution, angel. It's what I'd call necessary."

Aziraphale glanced at the terrified expression on the demon's face, suddenly understanding and squeezed Crowley's arm. "Of course I do. Merely acting under orders… I'd expect." 

But the underlying crackle of Crowley's demonic energy led him to believe it was more than that. He'd yet to get all the details about his planned execution from Crowley, only having been told the bare minimum. Whatever this was, clearly he hadn't thought it was necessary for him to know. Aziraphale set his own cold stare on the demon, watching his gaze flit between the two of them. Whatever had been done in Heaven, it had been done to Crowley.

"Forgiveness should be in my nature," he murmured, but didn't seem inclined to let that rule his decision. "We're on your lot's turf, however; I suppose I'll trust your judgment."

His judgment said to discorporate him. If they'd been on Earth, he would have. Ruin the body, send what was left back where he'd come from. They _were_ where he'd come from. His soul would zip straight to Beelzebub and they'd be fucked. But he couldn't kill him either. He didn't have the tools. 

So Crowley grinned and it was _mean_. It was also the last thing the lesser demon saw before Crowley hit him. Hard, solid, and more than enough to keep him unconscious until they were safely above ground again. He stepped back, letting him drop unceremoniously, and cracked his neck. "Should be a supply closet around here. Shall we lock him in one?"

"Yes, I think that would do nicely," he agreed. They each took an arm, hefting up the unconscious demon between the two of them. "Would it be suspicious for demons to drag around other demons for sport?" 

"Eh... Not really. Anybody asks, he pissed us off, we're handling it. No one'll look twice."

"Alright." Aziraphale looked at him over the demon's limp, lolling neck. "Aside from assisting with the Hellfire… Did he do anything else to you?" 

Crowley didn't look back, rolling his shoulders. "He wanted to hit you. Still tied to a bloody chair and he gets all excited about seeing a chance to lay into an angel. They were gonna let him, but I turned him off the idea _real_ fast. You glaring at him the way you did may have been what tipped him off, actually."

"Oh…" Aziraphale averted his gaze, not that Crowley could tell, and released a steadying breath. "I'm terribly sorry you had to endure that, Crowley. But he didn't- he didn't actually hit you, did he?" 

"Oh, don't start like I should've been easier on 'im. You don't know what it was like. He _would_ have and almost did. That's good enough in my book."

"Oh no, my dear," Aziraphale hastened to assure him. "I think you handled it rather well, considering. I only wanted to make sure he didn't dare lay a hand on you. Physical violence is not… _was_ not something I expected would come from Heaven. Aside from the actual punishment itself, of course." Though he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, not when he'd been cornered by three Archangels and laid into just the day before their scheduled executions.

Crowley frowned. "As controversial a thing as it is, Lucifer only came armed with questions. Wasn't this lot that threw the first punch." They stopped at a supply closet on the next landing and shoved the limp demon into it. He'd have more difficulty miracling himself out than Crowley did locking him in. "God didn't get angels right until the second round, in my opinion. I just don't think _good_ would stand much a chance with just one angel _and_ you wouldn't've had any time for me. I'm too selfish for all that, so probably a good thing all-in-all."

Aziraphale's brow creased in thought, his eyes fixed on the demon. He had made a decent enough point regarding the events leading up to the Fall, but the rest of it… "Crowley," he started, then sighed and removed his sunglasses just for a moment, so he could look at him without barriers. "I don't think that's true. You're not selfish."

His brows lifted. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I am. I was ready to leave last time this all happened. You know that."

"But you didn't." Aziraphale let the barest hint of a smile flicker across his face. "You stayed. And you tried to stop it first. You asked me to stop it with you."

He'd spent a full day convincing him. His angel was nothing if not loyal, even though it had been very misplaced. "I like Earth. I like my life on Earth. Dunno how that doesn't make me selfish."

Aziraphale knew that little bit of a good person deep down inside his demon liked the Earth for multiple reasons. Some of which definitely involved caring about what would happen to the humans who lived there and the feelings of one angel in particular. It was why they were here now, in Hell, risking capture to try and stop the world from ending once again. 

But he didn't have time to tell him all that, or even a little. Two demons lurked their way around the corner, so Aziraphale quickly replaced his glasses and ducked his head. They passed them without paying them much mind, but it was a reminder that they really didn't have the time to debate this.

"Well, _I_ don't think you're selfish," he hissed once it was just them again. "But we can discuss it later. Let's get back to the stairs."

Crowley's eyes rolled behind his lenses as he strolled past the angel. "There's nothing to discuss. You're just wrong. It's simple."

"No, I'm right, and you _know_ I'm right. That's why it's bothering you."

"Dunno where you got a psychological degree," Crowley muttered, accidentally proving Aziraphale right when he held open the stairwell door for him. At the angel's pointed look, he refused to allow the threatening blush and scowled. "Jussst hurry up."

Crowley's embarrassed misery and Aziraphale's smugness got them down the last few flights of stairs they needed without drawing any attention to themselves, though by that point Crowley was fighting amusement. Really, he came off more as Aziraphale's lackey this way and, oh, what a sweetly subtle jab at their locale. 

"Records are about halfway down the hall. Dagon was supposed to start entering all personnel files into computers, but I never finished teaching her how to use the things."

"Well, I suppose if the system isn't organized, then we'll have to divide and conquer the old-fashioned way until we can find his physical file. Hopefully they have some sort of proper filing system in place." 

There was nothing proper in or about Hell, so they might need a miracle or two or ten. The computer had been _his_ idea after watching Aziraphale pluck away on his little machine. If his techno-phobic angel could learn, a Duke of Hell shouldn't have had a problem. 

She'd had many, _many_ problems. It had been funny until he'd been called down to give her lessons on the oh, so exciting world of data entry. It had taken four hours to put one file together, two to enter it in, and another two for Dagon to find the pages she'd _known_ were missing. A quick run of the maths had horrified him - eight hours times ten million files divided by twenty-four hours divided by three hundred sixty-five days was over nine thousand years. He had an angel to get back to, for somebody's sake.

And so he'd slipped away on the excuse that Americans and Russians were meeting up to start making real strides towards peace and can't have that, nope, goodbye, have a lovely time. Sure, he'd delayed the falling of the Berlin Wall a few more years because of his meddling but he hadn't had to come down and even _look_ at another file. Win in his book. 

Except right now.

"Just stay close to the wall. Anybody 'round here is gonna be a risk to us and if Dagon's actually doing her job, we'll be in some trouble."

Aziraphale nodded, following Crowley's lead as they crept down the hall. At least the flickering, half-dead light bulbs cast shadows that helped to conceal their actual identities. As they approached the file room, voices slithered against the concrete walls, grumbling and hushed tones like they didn't know who might be listening. They were coming from Beelzebub's office.

Their door was slightly ajar. Aziraphale put out a hand to halt Crowley before he got too close, though the demon already had plans to stop. Beelzebub wasn't alone. Through the sliver, they could just make out the mud-stained coat belonging to Hastur.

"I have it on good authority that they're here," Hastur was telling them. "They're looking for something."

"Them? The traitor would never bring that angel here," Dagon snapped.

Beelzebub sounded mildly irritated. "The demon Crowley iz not zomething we can predict. He izn't _normal_ and we have it on record that the angel izn't either. Haztur, doez your good authority zay _what_ they're here for?" 

"Oh yes. Apparently Crowley knows about a certain… punishment that was used on the demon Cipher. Hopes to use something similar for his own gains."

But how had they known that? Aziraphale pressed closer to the wall as he tried to think. They came up with that plan safe within the barrier around the Pines' home. They hadn't told Bill what they were planning on either. There was no way they could have known.

They'd obviously missed something. He'd slipped in somehow, somewhere. Crowley ignored the pinpricks of angry guilt, snapped twice in such quick succession they only made one sound. He was suddenly she, and she had to bundle longer hair than intended into a messy bun. Because Cipher had seen Aziraphale's outfit - and, oh, this meant he'd _known_ why the angel had been dressed up - he was now in the current century. Probably for the first time in six thousand years, suit as smart as the mafia he tended to chase out of his shop. And, as much as Crowley hated to do it, those soft curls and blue eyes were black as midnight. No more chances. 

"Let'sss go," she hissed, quickly striding down the hall while Beelzebub told Dagon to put out an alert and close the body forging department down for the foreseeable future. How the _fuck_ had that idiot triangle managed to slip by? 

Really, the answer to that was simple. He'd been underestimated. The longer answer was a little more complicated. 

After zipping out of Dipper just in time for Crowley to grab and throw him out of a burning building, Bill hadn't gone far at all. He'd stayed with them, hovering between dimensions and sneering as Aziraphale's fondness for the town was expressed and snickering when he was able to slide into the Mystery Shack when the barrier had gone down. He'd been undetectable except for the one feather he'd deliberately left in a locker to throw everyone off the scent, but that information can wait for the next chapter. 

For now the important thing to know is that Bill did hear their plan and had taunted them on purpose just to make sure they still thought he was too stupid to have several backup plans. And if they'd known, Crowley and Aziraphale would have been a little more alarmed when they'd realized he and Hastur were together. 

"Do you always pop up in the most inconvenient part of the woods or is that just your style?" 

Hastur had frowned, though that was also his default expression, so Bill's question could have done less than even perturbed him. "Does it matter?"

"Every action should matter. It's how things get done." Bill had twirled his cane, though it more floated in midair since his hands had been folded behind his head. "Do you want to know what your next actions should be? Since you can't follow a couple of kids _subtly_."

In Hastur's mind, if he ended up burning the children to a crisp in Hellfire, it wouldn't have mattered if he'd been subtle or not in the end. They'd still have ended up dead. He probably could've salvaged the one that Bill wanted to use as a vessel. Yeah, probably.

But Bill had a habit of talking too much, which was almost as annoying as Crowley's very existence, so he simply grunted, "What?"

"Go to Hell. Tell someone important that Crowley's being stupid enough to take his angel down below. They think they can forge another brimstone vessel to trap me in."

Hastur narrowed his beady, black eyes. "They think they can just… walk into Hell unnoticed? That's ridiculous. They'll be found out immediately. But the angel's immune to Hellfire…" He hadn't even hesitated to try and save the kids from it, so obviously he wasn't afraid of it. "We'll have to come up with another way to deal with him."

"Discorporate them. Heaven's not gonna give him a new body." And he had a _theory_ about Crowley. That snake tattoo seemed a little... obvious and he hadn't even _tried_ to get into Pine Tree despite being the only one who could sense him. Very, _very_ suspicious. Bill cracked his knuckles. "I'll have the kid by the time you're done, so grab some more Hellfire while you're there and you can come burn this useless town to the ground."

That got a sneer-like grin to pull at the corners of his mouth. "Yes. Now that's more my style." And it wouldn't take long to take care of the traitors. Crowley couldn't hide from them, much less hide himself and the holy stench of an angel in their midst.

Except he - or rather, she - was and had been. There was, unfortunately, a small crowd near the records room. The slot in the main door was too narrow for paperwork and many stacks were too large to be easily folded. With Dagon out, as she so often was, there was a very literal paper jam that couldn't just be miracled away because no one was smart enough to think of it. They'd been told to put their things through the slot and so they were. Before banishment, Crowley would've taken care of it. Now it was a debate. 

"Fuck."

"I don't suppose there's a back way in?" Aziraphale whispered, eyeing the disgruntled demons and cringing as the edges of papers were bent and crinkled in an attempt to push them through.

"Now that would be convenient, but this is Hell." She willed a few pages through, just barely resisting the urge to tap her foot. 

This was going to take too long, and they were still far too close to Beelzebub's office to safely stand there, even with a change in disguise. "What typically gets demons excited down here?" Aziraphale asked, nodding towards the crowd. "Something that would attract their attention."

"Sin and evil, obviously, but-" 

Suddenly all of the demons went still, their grumbling quieting as their eyes glazed over. Aziraphale blinked at the sudden change, examining each of their faces as the intercom connected through the hallway made a crackling sound. He winced as a high pitched sound rang in his ears, but no one else seemed bothered by it in the slightest. Perhaps this sort of tinnitus-like sensation was commonplace in Hell. He looked to Crowley to ask, but found her to have tensed up, like she was coiling defensively as she listened to whatever it was the other demons could hear.

It seemed to stop for her last, but only seconds after. "Miracle the door open. Don't question it, just do it. Right now."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, a protest niggling just on his tongue, but he swallowed it down and snapped. Heavenly power had the door swinging open and the eyes of the other demons turned to them. If they needed to, they could send them all away, somewhere else in Hell, to buy some time. He had a sinking feeling that somehow they were about to start running out of it, and fast.

But Crowley was going to do what she could to get them every possible second. "So where's 'at fooking traitor?!" she hollered, accent thick as she snatched up the closest male-bodied demon. "S'you in disguise, innit?" She threw him further down the hall and there was a surge, Crowley quickly snatching Aziraphale's wrist to press him against the wall and along it to avoid the sudden shouts of accusation and sounds and sights of a Hellish brawl. Demons piled onto demons, panic and chaos taking hold as it so easily did in the depths. 

They slipped through the open door in the melee, Crowley snapping it shut and jamming the lock. "Right. Let's start in back, shall we?" 

"Crowley-" Aziraphale started, staring at the door as if it could be bashed in any second. "What the devil is going on? What was all that out there?"

"I'd call it a distraction, but..."

"No, not that. What happened before the distraction? What frightened you?"

"Frightened?!" She scoffed. "Frightened. Can't believe you'd even say that." He looked some combination of confused, annoyed, and worried, though so Crowley shrugged. "It's an information dump. Hell doesn't believe in normal broadcasts, so announcements and instructions just get relayed directly into us. On Earth, it comes through electronics. Radios and TV sets. Here, it's through the speakers all over the place."

"Alright… what did it say?" Aziraphale thought back to the distraction Crowley had just enacted. "It was about us, wasn't it? What they were talking about in Beelzebub's office."

With a splash of "discorporate on sight" to make it interesting, but she wasn't going to admit that. "Mmhm. We'll be alright, angel. It won't be easy to get through a brawl like that, not when they're probably still pissed about the safety meeting punishment. Then they'll have to fight with the door a bit. _If_ any of them even realizes this is where we've gone. Now I'd think his file's either gonna be in the back because where else would you file someone who's no longer part of the team? Bet I'm in back. _Or_ it's up here since they may have looked through it recently. Split up or look together?"

"Might be faster if we split up. You take the front, I'll take the back?"

She opened her mouth to argue, having expected Aziraphale to insist she go further from the obvious danger, so had a moment of mental whiplash. "Yeah. Yes. Just be quick."

Aziraphale smiled at her gently. He knew she'd put up a fuss, could still see the muscles of her corporation tense and coiled, ready to strike the longer they were down here. If taking the back of the room would help set her mind at ease, then it was the choice he'd make. They both needed to be concentrating on finding Cipher's file as quickly as possible. Best not to be distracted worrying about one another.

"Shout for me if you need me, my dear. Or if there's trouble, turn yourself into a snake and come find me. Might buy us some time to hide and sort things out from there."

"Right. Never stopped time in Hell before, but don't see why it wouldn't work too, and I know how to get out of here in a hurry."

"I'm sure you do." Especially if their very lives depended on it.

Aziraphale hurried to the back of the file room, gaze skimming the labels stuck on the cabinets. They weren't straight for one, each a little lopsided, and they'd been written in Sharpie, peeling up at the edges. They were also wrong, he realized, as he opened one cabinet to note that the contents were not _Personnel Files #746 - #1007_ , but a collection of receipts from various decades in folders labeled: _to be processed_. Aziraphale double checked the name of the cabinet, this time noticing a tiny post-it note stuck on the side. _Note to self - relabel cabinet._

Well, this would take some careful combing. Luckily, Aziraphale himself was a master at disorganized organization systems in his shop. It befuddled and frustrated potential customers, but he knew exactly where everything should go and why it was perfectly alright for nothing to be alphabetized. That just made things too easy.

He popped open the next several cabinets and skimmed their contents quickly, paying the actual labels no mind if they had a post-it note from Dagon. His eyes lit up as he found a promising cabinet. A folder for _Traitors_ was sandwiched between the _Torture_ and _Travel Expenses_ files. Aziraphale flipped through the few files that had been placed there. Crowley's was definitely there, but it was surprisingly light. A piece of paper in it let him know it was in the process of being updated. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and put it back, then pulled out a much thicker file that had been crammed in behind it.

_Cipher._

"My dear, I found something!" Aziraphale called out, then swept aside some loose papers left on top of the cabinet so he could spread out the file and make sure it was what they were looking for.

"Well, don't go shouting," Crowley grumbled as she made her way over. "Walls are thinner than paper in some spots."

"Well, how else am I supposed to attract your attention?" he huffed, but slid the file her way so she could look at it beside him. "I'm sure that brawl you started is loud enough to distract from us in any case."

"Eh. Probably," she agreed, distracted by the pages. There were far more than she'd anticipated, a brow arching as she shuffled through some. "Of course he'd fill out his compliance reports. He was always trying to drum up interest in the colony, but Hell's not about what's... what's interesting." She tugged out an order form scratched out on paper from the earliest days. An active miracle kept it from falling apart in her hands. "This is for a corporation. A proper one. Says he never picked it up."

Aziraphale leaned in to read it. "I thought you said he destroyed his old one… He put in a request for another?"

"Looks like. There's no way in Hell we're going to be able to make one now, but if this one was finished, it could still be here."

"You think so? They might have given it away by now, if someone else has been discorporated since."

"Well, Hastur most recently, I know that much." But Crowley shook her head, setting the page down. "But look at the date, angel. It's got _three_ digits. Something this old? Who'd remember? Nobody touched the surface in those days to even _get_ discorporated. Not enough people to harass and that was my job."

Aziraphale considered that. "So it very well could just be collecting dust somewhere… do you know where the corporations are kept when they're waiting to be picked up?"

"I've got... _an_ idea, but it's not a circle I'm completely familiar with." She rolled her shoulders as something seemed to drip down her spine, scaly but _damp_. And if Crowley could feel her with so many others nearby, it was because she wanted her to. "Dagon's coming. We either go topside empty-handed or take the chance it's still available."

"Well, the former just isn't an option. We need _something_ to bring back to trap Cipher in. I suppose it's a risk we'll have to take." Aziraphale closed up the file save for the order request, tucking it back into the cabinet before they fled.

\----

While Heaven was a place of pristine serenity and cold calm, Hell was a place of extremes. It was known for its heat, obviously, for the Hellfire and a demon's ability to produce flames with a thought. But there was always more to find. 

Crowley wasn't familiar with the majority of it. She'd spent most of Hell's existence above it, enjoying herself on Earth rather than exploring the depths with her fellow demons. It was much better that way, in her usual opinion, but it was a small regret as they wandered closer to the unfamiliar areas.

"The hellhounds are bred near the freezers," she murmured. There was a fresh tension in Hell now, demons suspicious of one another. It was safer to keep quiet, even when they were alone. "I've heard they keep some corporations there as part of the torturous ambience."

"Sound logic," Aziraphale murmured, hardly bothering to hide the sarcasm in his tone, relaying exactly what he thought of that. "Though I suppose I should be thankful we're heading somewhere cool." Their corporations couldn't really feel the same kind of discomfort with temperature that humans did, not unless they wanted to, but Aziraphale could still feel that there was a difference here than on Earth or in Heaven.

The transition from the stifling, smothering heat to subzero temperatures was sudden, practically a slap to the senses with something sharp and jagged. One would almost expect to see the walls glazed in ice, but all the moisture in the air had been sucked right out. Where the higher levels of Hell had been heavy and oppressive, the air in the lower levels dove right past Heaven's chill and stabbed into their essences like they were nothing more than pin cushions.

"At least this way there's some chance the corporation has been kept fresh enough. Perhaps with some freezer burn."

Crowley shrugged, subtly insulating Aziraphale's suit jacket. The more miracles she did around him, the less his natural _goodness_ rippled around. "As long as we find _something_ , I really don't care if it's specifically his."

"Good point." Aziraphale tugged on his suit jacket, the sudden swell of warmth he felt spring up within him not so much from the actual insulation, but the act itself. 

His gaze flicked over Crowley's form, longing to do something in return for her while they were down here, and only hoped she'd taken care to give herself some proper insulation as well. Even though he'd used a miracle to open the file room, the way the simple snap had called all the attention in the hall to the divine energy had him reluctant to try again for anything that wasn't a life or death scenario. It had been like a flame in the dark.

There were footsteps ahead of them, clumping along as demons searched for them. They ducked into a storage closet and wedged themselves in between some crates of treats for the hellhounds, a mix of various organs and human bones for them to gnaw on. They turned off their need to breathe, lest their breath cloud in the cold air and give them away. Only one demon skulked past them, sniffing around near the crates, but not close enough to detect anything beyond the body parts.

Aziraphale felt for Crowley's hand and squeezed it once in reassurance, for both their sakes'. Getting the hell out of Hell couldn't come soon enough, but they really couldn't leave without anything to show for it. The fate of the world depended on it. They hadn't stopped Armageddon and committed to their side so the likes of Cipher could just destroy it anyway.

"Anyone else out there?" Aziraphale whispered, when no one else looked in the closet for a good minute.

It was nearly impossible to tell, but this wasn't a popular spot. Crowley left her hand in Aziraphale's, lifting the other to her temple to help focus. "No. Should be fine. You alright, love?" 

"Tip-top." He opened the door, took a peek out to confirm it was indeed fine, then held it open for her. "They just got a little too close for comfort."

"A bit," she agreed, looking around with more than just her eyes as she buttoned her suit jacket. It was the only sign she gave that the chill was affecting her. It was the kind of cold that reached into the bone, piercing skin like icy needles. "We just need to find something before someone gets smart enough to sic hellhounds on us."

Aziraphale undid his suit jacket and slipped it off, draping it over Crowley's shoulders instead. "I believe I'm more used to the chill than you are, dearest. A quick miracle to turn my shirt black should do for the rest of the time we're down here."

It was so sweet and a little stupid, given their situation, but very much her angel. "You may be more used to it, but I know you don't _like_ it. I can fix my own clothes, y'know."

"Yes, but you haven't yet. And I can't fix them for you here, but I can offer you that." Aziraphale adjusted the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, mostly to hide the way he wanted to smile at her. "And no, I don't like it, but I don't believe you do either. Not entirely." Her flat may have tried to be cold in its concrete, but if she'd really wanted it to stay that way, she wouldn't have allowed the little homey touches Aziraphale had brought in over the past several months. "Now, what was that you were saying about them sending hellhounds after us? Best get a wiggle on if we don't want that."

Despite all the natural demonic warmth she had fueling her, she was still a snake. It wasn't as bad when she was human, but so much of her wanted to curl up and sleep away the chill, conserve energy to avoid freezing. So the warmth the jacket gave was as perfect as the angel's scent wrapping around her. 

And Aziraphale just looked too pleased with himself to argue too much. She tugged the jacket a little tighter around herself while Aziraphale's shirt thickened in material and darkened in shade. She wasn't going to let him freeze, after all. 

"You're the one who stopped to be ridiculous," she complained, as much heat in the words as in this frozen tundra of Hell, and turned away to continue on before she could smile fondly. "First useable corporation we find, we're out of here."

"No arguments from me," Aziraphale replied, falling into step beside her.

There were more storage rooms around the next corner, most sealed up with sliding metal doors. A few resembled closets, so Aziraphale tried those while Crowley unlocked and hefted up the sheets of metal. No corporations. Nothing that could even be used in lieu of a corporation. Some of the closets were just empty, as if their only purpose was just for the two of them to have to go through every single one.

Aziraphale opened the last one on his left, raising an eyebrow as he revealed its contents. "A janitorial closet?" He looked over his shoulder for Crowley. "Hell has a janitorial staff?"

"Not one I've ever seen. I'm sure it was supposed to be somebody's job, but... I'd shove everything in a closet and disappear too." 

Unable to help his curiosity, Aziraphale pulled out a few of the cleaning supplies tucked in buckets. "I don't think these have ever been used," he tutted. "But really, when a demonic miracle could certainly do the trick, I don't see why-"

As he moved a mop, something the mop had been propping up fell forward with a heavy thud. Aziraphale took a step back before it landed on him, eyes wide as he took in the stiff arm reaching for his shoes. It was very much an entire body that had just tumbled out of the janitorial closet.

"Ah. Well... suppose that's one place to put it."

Crowley chuckled. "What'd I tell you, angel? Torturous ambience. Nothing's worse than..." She trailed off, having crouched down to flip the body over. Recognition was so distant she almost thought it was wishful thinking, but it had to be. The triangular eye patch was too much of a giveaway, the golden hair just the right shade of garish. "Well. Shoulda known an angel in Hell would be good luck."

Aziraphale beamed at her. "Oh, my dear… so- so this is him? Excellent. Doesn't seem to be in too terrible of a condition, considering where he's been kept."

"He's been kept in a freezer, obviously untouched. Bet somebody hung him here for scare value and forgot. Unless this was actually proper storage back then. I've got no idea. You and I used to actually be busy."

"Speak for yourself. I'm busy. Still running my shop, still performing good deeds," Aziraphale huffed, stooping down to help Crowley lift the corporation. "Still keeping an eye on you, wily old serpent."

"Now I don't exactly make _that_ difficult, so-" There was a rush of energy, a flurry of footsteps, the sounds of the fallen body and supplies alerting nearby demons. "Shit." 

"What should we do? Where's the nearest exit?" Aziraphale looked around for any kind of a sign to guide them.

"Up. Up is always the exit. But let's start this way." Crowley snapped, shrinking the corporation they'd found to drop into a pocket - _not_ the pocket with a tartan bowtie, absolutely not - and opened a section of wall for them to slip through. She'd learned long ago that miracles couldn't fix Hell, but they could certainly make it worse. 

Aziraphale followed her through, just as he heard voices round the corner. A set of stairs manifested next and they took them up briskly to the next level and out of the icy chill. It spat them out beside a few other demons who looked at them suspiciously, but at least weren't actively on the hunt.

With a lazy shrug, Aziraphale put on his act. "Just checking if they found the traitors yet. Bet whoever finds them'll make it _real_ painful." That seemed to earn him a few hums and nods of agreement.

Crowley just spit out something in such a thick Scottish burr that even Aziraphale couldn't be completely sure what she was saying. It earned confused nods and quick steps away, which worked perfectly well for them both. She angled her head in a quick jerk and kept going, pushing her arms through the jacket sleeves so it at least looked like hers and not the gift it'd been. It didn't matter that it didn't match; it was Hell. Her own jacket disappeared with the insulated nature of Aziraphale's as they re-entered sweltering heat. "Once we get somewhere we can be safely alone for five minutes, we'll just fly up. S'long as no one _sees_ your wings, we'll be alright."

"What do you think they'll do when they realize we're no longer down here?" he asked quietly, tugging at his collar with the heat a degree shy of stifling. "They wouldn't bother to send anyone else after us, would they? Other than Hastur."

"Broadcast said nothing about the surface or Cipher. And the way Hastur was talking, he's still not officially involved. Hell isn't. So once we're out of here, I don't see anyone else coming." She lifted a hand in a half-shrug, remembering to thin Aziraphale's shirt again too. "Now if Cipher gets his way, that's another story entirely, but we're not going to let him."

"Of course not. Especially not now that we have his vessel." Aziraphale looked down at his shirt, sighing in relief. "Thank you." Crowley was too fond to correct him. 

An empty meeting room provided the perfect coverage. Aziraphale locked the door behind them and Crowley miracled any windows looking in to be completely tinted. They moved a few of the folding chairs and an old overhead projector out of the way to create enough space for their wings to expand and fill the room. Aziraphale glanced up at the ceiling above.

"I've never left Heaven anywhere except the front entrance, minus that time I was discorporated…" But he hadn't had a body to worry about then. "We really just fly up?"

"It's the easiest, messiest way to exit, so yes. Think about where you want to be and we'll be there. So probably right behind the manor where we started. It's easier to close your eyes the first time."

Aziraphale looked suspicious at first, but he'd trusted Crowley so far - and would trust her to the end of the world - so he closed his eyes and let his wings flutter in this plane. The instinctive urge to keep them in close, tucked away from the heat born from Hellfire, pinned them in place for a moment, but he forced them to stretch out to their full width.

"Alright. Behind the manor. I'll see you there."

"Right." She hesitated a moment, but reached out and let her fingers run over Aziraphale's tense fist. "I'd never ask you to do this if it was risky. I swear. I'll keep an eye on you, angel."

His fingers uncurled, tension seeping out of him at the light touch, and he skimmed over her wrist with his own caress in return. "I know, dearest. You always do." 

"You'd have drowned in paperwork if I hadn't." Her lips quirked, only half-teasing. "I'll hold your hand if you want."

Aziraphale firmed up his grip, taking the offer for what it was. "To make sure we end up in the same place, of course."

"Well. Wouldn't want to lose my angel in the depths of Hell, would I? Or, more like, you'd pop up in Soho and that wouldn't do us much good either." Crowley lifted just a little off the ground, wings rustling. "Come on," she urged, feeling but not telling of the approaching demonic energies. The tinted windows couldn't hide the brightness of those wings, not completely. 

The flight upwards took either seconds or hours, time distorted in between Hell's suction-cup draw downwards and Earth's stable pull. But they surfaced immediately or eventually, though Crowley preferred to think of it as something that happened quickly. He'd - because a snap quickly adjusted his body back to the male form he actually felt like wearing - never particularly enjoyed the sensation, but the elevator had been out of the question. 

Another snap fixed Aziraphale. His miracles were free game back on Earth, but Crowley had put the demonic facade on him and he wanted it _gone_. He even fixed his clothes, relieved on an embarrassing level to see that old damn waistcoat. "There. Next time somebody tries to start ending the world, it'd better be your lot. Heaven is a lot easier to navigate."

"Indeed. If anyone asks my opinion next time they think about it, I'll make sure to let them know." Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat, equally pleased to be back in his well-worn clothes, everything back in place except… "Oh, my bowtie, my dear. If you wouldn't mind."

He sort of did, buying himself a moment by returning his own clothes. Mostly. The suit jacket still smelled like his angel and he wasn't quite ready to part with it yet. "Y'know, I was thinking about keeping it. Just til we got back home and all." As an excuse to get closer again. "No interruptions there."

Aziraphale stopped fiddling with his clothes and took a long look at Crowley. He'd long grown used to the demon's inclination for switching things up when it came to gender presentation, but it settled something in him to see Crowley in the form he'd taken prior to their journey to Hell. It was a reminder that the immediate danger had passed, for now.

But he did notice the different suit jacket, kept for reasons other than a disguise or as protection against the chill, and a gentle smile spread across his face. "True. That is an excellent point. I trust you'll keep it safe until then."

"Tch. I always take care of my souvenirs," he muttered, grateful for the distraction of his phone buzzing. He plucked it out of his pocket and watched the missed calls show up one after another after another. It was four in the fucking morning. What in the hell-? 

The texts came through next and Crowley swore. "He's got the boy."

Aziraphale's smile faded. "What? No, it can't be… they were protected."

"The same protection that was supposed to keep him from knowing we were headed to Hell? Something happened, angel, and-" 

There was an explosion that rattled the mountain the manor sat atop and they could both see the plume of smoke blocking out the stars. 

" _Shit_."

A red glow burned through the trees below them, so much more than a newspaper office set ablaze in an instant. The little town was burning, and Bill Cipher had a vessel. The end of the world might've been closer than they'd thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write - I mean, all of them were, but Aziraphale and Crowley are just so bad at being inconspicuous. They're lucky Hell doesn't have more brain cells than they do.
> 
> Stay tuned for next chapter where we find out how things went so wrong so fast...


	13. Chapter 13

While Aziraphale and Crowley had been scouring Hell, things had been very busy on Earth's surface, in one bedroom and one mind in particular. Wirt, as we last left him, was trying to find Dipper's conscious self in his own mind in order to right this very confusing wrong. 

Bill, being a demon Hellbent on revenge against... well, against everyone, was not making that easy. 

And so the hallway Wirt landed in was far more dull than the room above had been. Though still bathed in color, they weren't nearly as bright and the air was stale. It wasn't even like the baseball field and locker room he'd explored with Aziraphale. This was like a school hallway with doors, all shapes and sizes, scattered along the walls Wirt could see, interspersed with sporadic lockers and more cork boards.

Unlike the ones in the room he'd fallen from, these weren't neat and ordered. The information that shifted on them was sluggish and confused, and they looked as if they'd been designed for an American elementary school. The one he was in front of had a smiling sun in the corner, its pale yellow face eerie and the beady eyes seeming to look directly at the intruding teen. 

Or, perhaps, they were on the triangle floating above his head. "Now this is much better than that hopeful, sensible part of his brain! Welcome to the _real_ bit, Music Note! Somewhere in this maze of doors lies Pine Tree's stream of conscious! In the meantime, you get to enjoy his memories _and_ the delightful things he tells himself!"

The childish bulletin board shifted, bright bubble letters spelling out "Be creative!" And under, written by a child's shaking hand. _But not too creative_.

"Follow your dreams!" _As long as they're what's expected._

"Use your imagination!" _As long as it's sensible._

Bill chuckled. "What a happy kid. Hey, where you going, Music Note? There are plenty more inspirational quotes to pluck from his mind! Hell could take some pointers, honestly."

"Like you don't already know," Wirt grumbled, gaze roving over the various doors, stomach churning every time he glimpsed one of the bulletin boards. 

He paused in front of a dark blue door, relatively normal sized and reached for the handle. He hesitated, recognizing how invasive this was, but if his stream of consciousness was somewhere in here, then he needed to find it and somehow get consciousness to reign. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on the handle and opened it. 

"Dipper?" he called out.

It played like a scene from a movie. While Wendy leaned against the side of the counter, reading a magazine, the twelve year old twins took up space on the opposite side. Mabel sat atop a globe, hands held out for balance as she spun, and Dipper studied the pages of journal number three while sitting atop a barrel.

"Mabel," he asked, "do you believe in ghosts?"

"I believe you're a huge dork!" she replied, laughing.

Unimpressed, he lifted his pencil and pressed it to the side of the globe, halting it and sending her flying off the back.

Bill slammed the door and the floor beneath Wirt shifted. " _Boring_. If we're going to snoop, let's at least find something that I'm in."

Wirt glared at him even as his arms flailed to keep himself steady. "That's not why I'm here. I've seen enough of you to last ten lifetimes."

"Don't be so upset. You should be thanking me, Music Note. I'm the only reason you even know each other!"

The floor halted, Wirt stumbling a bit as a new door swung open to show the twins, walking on opposite sides of a road. "I'm not scared," thirteen year old Mabel said.

Dipper rolled his eyes, walking on the side with the guardrail. But then he grinned down at Waddles, the pig trotting beside him. "Then why won't you come over here? This is the right side of the road for pedestrians. There's even a lined walkway!"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm not scared," she insisted, flipped her hair. When a car sped by, though, she jumped and her twin laughed at her. "Cut it out, Dipper."

"Just come over here, okay?"

"You come over here!"

He lifted his cell phone, snapping a picture of her upset face. "Check out Mabel," he said, thumbs tapping the bottom of the screen as though he was sending a text. "Scared of nothing."

"Dipper!" Caught between being not wanting to be seen as a scaredy-cat and wanting to prove to herself that she could overcome her fears, Mabel steeled herself and ran across the street. "Give me that!" she demanded, reaching for the phone.

He held her back with one hand, the other holding the phone out of reach as he laughed. "No way!"

She shouted his name again, tickling him when he still refused. 

And the color faded. Everything stilled, went to gray. Both twins and pig were lifted and placed several steps closer to the guardrail. Too close. Far too close.

The color returned, Dipper letting out a yelp as his sister tickled him. Thinking he had so much more room than he did, he was quick to retreat and stumbled over a break in the guardrail. The phone hit the asphalt as the boy fell back, eyes rounding in shock as he fell over the side of a cliff. "Mabel!"

Beside Wirt, Bill chuckled. "I was really hoping that'd kill them, but you know how well that worked out. The mental anguish it caused was a riot, though! Shooting Star still thinks it was all her fault."

"You..." 

A chill settled in his gut, spreading through his veins to squeeze him with dread and fear on behalf of the kids he and Greg and Beatrice had stumbled across in The Unknown. The kids who had become family, who he loved dearly. It wasn't an accident that they fell. 

The chill turned white hot and he rounded on Bill. "They were kids. How sad and pathetic do you have to be to feel threatened by _kids_. They were barely thirteen! As if you hadn't already tortured them enough over the summer! What are you trying to prove?"

Bill's eye flashed red and the floor moved again. This time it was rapid, purposefully knocking Wirt off his feet. He knew the ins and outs of this mind well, so it took only seconds for them to shoot through a new door, this one labelled _Repression_.

"You act like I haven't been everywhere. Ever since these _kids_ first caused me trouble. I told them then that I'd be watching, and I have been. I've been watching a long, long time."

He stretched himself out in front of a door, this memory not one of Dipper's, and the scene played on his triangular body.

Gideon stared at him, the jail cell around him dark but for a golden triangle and an outstretched hand, encased in blue flame. "Come on, kid. You want them to suffer; I want them to suffer. What have you got to lose? I've got the perfect monster lined up and ready for ya!"

When Gideon clasped his hand and sealed the deal, the Bill floating before Wirt melted and a door he'd been blocking swung open.

It was the basement of the Blind Eye Society. Fifteen year old Dipper was tied to a post, Gideon holding a thin knife to his throat while a man laid dead in the corner. "Now, then, let's just make things a little more-"

Gideon broke off, and Wirt was shown what Dipper hadn't been able to see - Bill melting into Gideon's body, taking hold.

Gideon made a delighted little noise and pushed up his bangs. Dipper's eyes sprang wide, sheer and absolute panic shooting down his spine as it arched. "Get off of me!" he shouted, going pale and bucking desperately. "Get off!"

"My, my, my! Isn't this just the cutest thing!" Gideon cooed and blinked wide, empty eyes at Dipper. They were golden, but Dipper couldn't see that. "Why it's awfully faded, but I think I recognize exactly what this is. The _little_ Dipper," he taunted. "Why are you always covering this up, Pines? It's so adorable."

Trembling now, Dipper shook his head. "S-stop."

"Now now, Dipper, I'm not done with you just yet. And now with this brand new discovery, I got even more to enjoy! I was just gonna kill you, but this seems like so much more fun now! Why don't we darken this birthmark up a bit, shall we? No need to hide, Dipper Pines. The world will forget you soon enough, but why not go out with style?"

While branches of an Edelwood tree sprang up and surrounded Wirt, keeping him in place, Bill lifted the knife with Gideon's body and began to carve into the birthmark. Dipper screamed, jerking in his binds as the knife tore through his skin. His eyes squeezed shut to keep the blood out of them, and he spit as it got into his mouth. Gideon kept carving, heedless of his begging.

Behind Wirt, Bill whispered, "In case you haven't figured this out, Music Note, Pine Tree wasn't quite as passed out as his own mind's let him believe. The power of suppression is incredible, isn't it? He didn't need a memory ray to wipe that out of his head, but... I think it's time he remembers it in all its glory, don't you? And just when he was starting to leave his hat off more!"

"Don't you dare." Wirt braced his arms against the doorframe as if physically blocking Bill from this memory could spare Dipper from him, unable to look away from the ghastly sight in front of him. It had been Bill. It had been Bill from the beginning, this whole time... "You've done more than enough. Get out. Get out of him!"

"Oh, hearing that brings back memories. He said the same thing last fall, didn't he? So desperate to get me out of you just to avoid what's happening right now! I mean, can you imagine _you_ fighting me every single time I tell you to do something?" He cackled. "Neither could he!"

Bill slammed the door shut on Dipper's wrecked sobs and, with just a little bit of effort, pulled it clear off the wall. They zipped busily along the floor again and the door was pressed firmly to a wall just outside the section of repressed memories.

Bill patted it fondly. "Can't wait til he wakes up! That's gonna be fun to watch." He spun to Wirt, twirling his cane as the branches retracted. "Hope you're ready to give a lot of comfort while your boyfriend goes into shock and totally melts down!

"You wanna see the mommy issues now? I mean, Pine Tree and his parents! Wow. No wonder he clings to yours like a desperate toddler. Oh! Oh! How about big sister Mabel? Do you want to see the time Shooting Star pushed him in first grade for hiding behind her? It's all fun and games until your own twin sister is calling you a nutjob!"

A dozen doors flew open, Mabel's voice pouring from each one. "You and your crazy conspiracies!"

Wirt flinched at the onslaught, bristling on behalf of his boyfriend. It wasn't news to him, Dipper had told him before that there'd been a time Mabel wasn't always in his corner. No stranger to saying things he'd regretted to his own sibling, Wirt let the words slough off him, squaring his shoulders as he fought back a shudder when he met Bill's gaze. "News flash, Bill. People make mistakes. Dipper knows that. Dipper's forgiven her and that's what matters. Things are- things are better."

"Are they? How much of her being nice to him now is really her and how much of that is a result of _this_?"

They shot down the hall again, the door they swung into this time marked only with a triangle. This room was dark and large. Slowly, lights began to flicker on, up and down the rows to reveal a theatre. There was a boy perched in the second row who looked up slowly, eyes glowing gold. 

In the garb of a reverend, the twelve-year-old visage of Bipper kicked his heels onto the chair in front of him and leaned back. The triangle faded as the boy spoke. "Aw. Looking for the real Pine Tree, huh?"

Wirt pursed his lips, stiff and heart hammering at the sight of him. He might not have known him at twelve, but he didn't need to in order to feel how wrong this was. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Wirt turned on his heel. "I don't have time for this." He needed to find and wake up _his_ boyfriend.

"Oh, you have all the time in the world for this." The door he'd come through shut and locked with an audible sound, Bipper rising. He strode towards Wirt and the hand that reached out and snatched his wrist was that of a sixteen-year-old. "This a little closer to what you were looking for?" he purred, spinning him forcefully.

"Not at all." Wirt stumbled into him. Once he regained his balance, he pushed away and tried to tug his wrist free from him. "Let go of me!"

"You should really get used to this, though. I've always been here, as long as you've known him anyway. I never leave. I never will." 

Wirt's eyes widened. This was it. This was the piece of Bill that Crowley had sensed, that he and Aziraphale had come in to find. This was why it could move and hide all throughout Dipper's mind. The feather had just been a decoy. He and Aziraphale had failed.

Bipper hooked an ankle behind Wirt's legs while he was stunned and pulled, toppling him into a chair that materialized out of nowhere. Tree branches sprouted from the back, entangling Wirt while Bipper laughed. The triangle flickered in and out behind him, never quite becoming fully realized. "While Dipper sleeps, I'm the power here. I'm the gatekeeper. I'm the director.

"And you are nothing more than the audience." He lifted his hands and the lights dimmed but for the ones that shown on the stage. Again twelve, Mabel and Dipper appeared. Smiling wide, he stepped out of Wirt's line of sight. "Action."

Mabel hugged the journal tighter to her chest, edging back. "Bipper..."

"Hand over the book, Shooting Star. I just want to hold it." He held out his hand and Mabel gasped when it glowed with blue flame. "Surprised? Oh, Pine Tree was too. I couldn't do this last time, but it's amazing what a few days in one of these flesh bags can do." He advanced on her and she bumped into a wall. "Hand it over, Shooting Star."

"Never! I got you out last time, and I will this time too!"

A ghostly image of Dipper appeared, shouting uselessly at his twin. "Mabel, you can't! You can't this time. Just run, okay? Give him the journal and just- _Mabel_!"

Bipper surged forward, yanking her around, making her trip over her own feet and fall. The journal went flying. She immediately reached out tickle him, prepared to exhaust him just as she had the last time so Bill would have no choice but to leave. She gasped when her own sweater started to choke her, the fabric yanking tight around her neck, so her hands fell to her collar to tug instead.

And Bipper's glowing hand went to her stomach. Burning through fabric in seconds to get to the skin. Mabel let out gurgling screams, struggling to get away from the golden eyed version of her brother. The real version, floating without a body, gripped his hat. "Mabel!"

Bipper's head turned, smile wide. "Isn't this what you wanted, Pine Tree?"

"No, it's-" He looked from his sister's bulging, terrified eyes to the golden ones in his own face. "I'm taking my body back _now_!"

"Come get it."

Dipper's body contorted, both spirits fighting for dominance. It was enough to release the stranglehold of Mabel's sweater and she shimmied to get out from under him, her scream coming unburdened and unbroken when Bipper's hands landed on her again. They branded her, scarring her with an unbearable freeze.

One eye went white, Mabel clawing at her twin's arm in desperation to get him away from her. "Dipper, please, you've almost got him out! Dipper!"

The second eye turned white as his hand plunged into the center of her chest, burning away skin to wrench her heart out. It was Dipper whose face switched from Bill's too-wide smile to an angry snarl. "You're the _worst_ sister! You _deserve_ this, Mabel!" he shouted.

Her vision started to haze, blood pouring from her wounds. "Dip... Dipper..."

" _Now_ who's crazy?! Now who's the freak?! You're _never_ on my side!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," she breathed, head falling back as her eyes slipped shut.

The scene froze, the sixteen-year-old version of Bipper propping his feet into Wirt's lap. "Now I know what you're gonna say. They've told you about this. They showed you the scars. But you can't deny that there's something special about watching it firsthand, just something that gets right under the skin."

Wirt struggled against the branches, trembling as Mabel's screams and Dipper's accusations echoed in his head, or what his consciousness perceived as his head. In any case, he tried to drown them and Dipper's- Bill's taunts out and focus on getting free. He could rip them away, he had to. He couldn't let himself become an Edelwood tree, he had to find Dipper. He had to find him. Wake him up. Keep him safe. He was _failing_ him.

The branches tightened and his breath hitched, forcing his gaze to his lap, following the limbs along his boyfriend's body to meet the unnatural yellow glow of his eyes. No, not his eyes. "This isn't why I'm here. I'm here to help him. Nothing you show me is going to stop me from doing that, so just… _stop_."

"Oh, it's too late for you to help him." A long knife appeared in Bipper's hands, his finger running along the blade's edge. "But it's fun to watch you try. I mean, you and that angel in here earlier. Tricking him and his demon boytoy into believing I was a feather? Almost too easy, but I know how to hide. I've been doing it for years."

"Yeah, well, now we know. Now we know and when they come back, we'll get you out. For good this time." Wirt's gaze darted between his boyfriend's face and the knife in his hands. "You're not going to win, Bill."

"You really think so?" He tsked. "Hell's been alerted already, Music Note. They're not getting out of there easily if they even manage it at all. And if they do, it won't matter. I know their weaknesses better than they know mine. They've shown their hand."

Wirt swallowed, twisting a bit in his bindings as he tried not to let his words sink in. But what did they really know about this angel and demon? Yes, they were here to help and they'd stopped the world ending once before, but could they help them stop Bill? He had to believe they could, for all of their sake, but in case they couldn't…

"Well, then we'll stop you without them. We've fought you out before, and we'll keep fighting you. You're _not_ going to destroy our lives. _Or_ the world." Wirt glared at him, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Aww. You're so determined even though there's a very strong chance that you're going to end with something more like this." He gestured towards the stage, and it was Greg who was screaming, the child unable to fight the sixteen-year-old burning him. "Will it be your boyfriend or your brother, I wonder?"

Wirt squeezed his eyes shut, jerking in his binds as if to go to him or get away. Far away from all of this. "It will be _both_ ," he choked out, almost unable to hear himself over Greg's screams. "It will be both. I can keep them both safe. This isn't real. This isn't real, Wirt. Don't listen. Don't listen." The Edelwood squeezed him until he cried out. "This isn't real!"

They were gone. Just like that, the branches gone and the screams silenced, Dipper and Greg no longer on the stage. Bipper still sat beside him though, using him as his footstool. Breathing heavily, Wirt pushed his legs off him and stood, eyes wide as he watched the projection of his possessed boyfriend and his knife warily. Wirt lifted his quivering chin, head held high as he met his stare evenly. 

"Don't get too cocky," he wheezed, chest tight and knees weak, but his expression was firm, his eyes dark with warning, then he brushed past him, aiming for the exit to the hallway. 

Bipper's laughter spilled out, though he made no move to follow. "You just don't understand that you've already lost this fight. I do appreciate the help, though. You and your calming effect on Pine Tree's mind have done quite a bit. Have fun finding him in his final moments of sanity! You're on your own from here!"

"That's the best news I've heard all day!" Wirt fired back, letting the door to the theatre slam behind him. 

It echoed in the long hallway and everything flickered for a second. Like an old, grainy film. Like slamming the door in a mindscape had disturbed it somehow. Then it was quiet. He was alone. 

His back pressed against the door as he slumped into it, hands rubbing his face as he exhaled shakily in an attempt to gain control over his shallow breathing. He pushed them up into his hair, fingers catching in the strands as he stared at the ground, swaying forward a little. His legs twitched, phantom sensations of roots twisting around his ankles haunting him as he stood there. Vision blurring slightly, he swallowed down the potential tears with great gasps and blinked them back. If only this was a nightmare. Why couldn't this just be one of his nightmares? 

"Dipper?" Wirt's voice was too soft to do any good, fearful of breaking the veil of silence surrounding him in the empty hallway of Dipper's mind, eerie now without Bill's constant chatter and slamming of doors. "Dipper," he tried again, a little louder. "Dipper!"

Nothing answered him. Not even Bill. 

Wirt took a step away from the door, then another, hugging himself. As he stood in the middle of the hallway and glanced around, he began to rub his arms as if he was cold, bare thanks to another one of Dipper's oversized t-shirts he'd accidentally ended up with acting as his sleepshirt. He glanced down, noting the way his baggy, gray pajama bottoms partially covered his socked feet. What a joke. He was standing in the middle of Dipper's mind in his pajamas, acting like he could actually save him. 

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he confessed in a whisper. "Dipper, I don't belong in here. What do I know about spells and mindscapes and protecting you from demons? I can't even find you in your own mind. Where are you? This is your mind. You should be here. Can't you hear me?" Bill had said he had a calming effect on his mind, but was that just another taunt? What did that mean? 

Pressing his lips together tightly, he walked up to one of the stretches of wall bare of any bulletin boards. He pressed his palm against it. He stroked the wood panelling, heart clenching as he listened for something, anything.

"Can you feel me?" he asked. "I'm here. I'm trying to be your shield. I'm sorry I'm not doing a better job, but I'm still here. I still believe in you. Believe in me, too. Help me find you."

When nothing happened, Wirt closed his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead touching the wall lightly. It didn't feel silly at all to nuzzle it, just as it didn't feel silly to pet the walls of Dipper's mind. It was a part of the boy he loved, no different from his hand, cheek, or lips. His own touched the wall, brief and soft, then he pulled back and picked a direction. He wasn't doing him any good just standing there. He needed to wake him up. 

His soft footfalls filled the silence with their shuffling sounds as he made his way past a bunch of doors. Some brighter than others. He reached out to a few, guilt niggling in his mind when he caught snips and snatches of Dipper's memories. He tried not to think about the fact that he hadn't found any memories with him in them. He told himself that didn't mean anything and that wasn't why he was here in the first place. 

Wirt opened a giant, yellowish-amber door only to yelp in terror as an actual pterodactyl swooped towards him. He quickly closed the door and backpedaled away from it, only to trip over his own two feet. He fell back, right into another door, but instead of breaking his fall it swung open. Tumbling through it, Wirt gasped as he stumbled right into one of Dipper's memories, the landing to the Mystery Shack attic unmistakeable. 

He almost fell right into Dipper himself, another version of the twelve-year-old huddled on the floor outside of his bedroom door. "O-oh!" 

Arms flailing, Wirt managed to keep himself from crashing into the boy, eyes wide as they met an equally surprised stare. Oh, god. He could see him? Was this like messing with the past? Could he accidentally mess something up in Dipper's memories? Corrupt them like a computer virus or something?

This Dipper removed his hat, not the familiar pine tree one, but one Wirt had never seen before. It was patchy-looking and brown, a dark brown star where the pine tree was on his other hat. The memory rubbed his fist over his brow and lifted a hand. Mabel, who had been singing loudly about her date with someone named Norman, fell silent, and the boy rose. He brushed himself off, frowning at the teenager.

"I don't... What are you doing in my mind, man? This is weird."

"I- um. I'm sorry, I know I'm probably not supposed to be in here, but I promise I'm not trying to mess with your memories or anything," he assured him, arms still flapping in his haste to explain. As he realized this, he dragged his hands through his hair to give them something else to do. "I'm trying to find your… conscious mind? Basically I'm just trying to wake you up. That's all. Um. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find… _you_ , would you? The current you, I guess."

"I am the current me, at least one part of the current me. Any one of the doors would've led you in the right direction. But the sum of all parts is currently off-limits to-" He broke off, head tilting to the side. "Oh, wait, that's... Wow, okay." He laughed, rubbing a fist over his heart. "Okay, sorry about that. I didn't realize- I mean, _I_ don't really know who you are, but a big part of me does. Wow. I've never trusted anyone before. That feels neat."

Around them, the memory faded, shifted, and they were back in the first room. The younger version was gone and Dipper was kicked back at his desk. He spun in the chair and offered a small smile. There was stress behind his eyes. "Hey, babe. Welcome back to the Mindscape. It's... It's gone a little haywire. I keep losing track of things."

"Dipper…" Wirt's breath hitched as he took him in, heart lodged in his throat. Everything about him was so familiar and right after all he'd just seen, even down to the bags under his eyes. He erased the space between them, nearly overbalancing as he leaned down to wrap his arms around him. He knew it was the sum again, not his Dipper's conscious mind, but it was the closest piece he had of him, and it needed just as much comfort, too.

"Why are you losing track of things? What's going on?" he asked, partially muffled by his shoulder.

He reached up, unable to resist, and gripped his shirt. "I can't see outside, not like normal. What I do get is either flickers or the equivalent of TV static. He's suppressing me as much as he can and I don't even have the consciousness to fall back on."

"Why? What's happened to your consciousness?" Wirt rubbed along his back, feeling the desperation in his hold on him. "Is it because of the sleeping pills?"

"Mmhm. They're experimental, Wirt, and he took a dose Grunkle Ford marked as being pretty strong. I don't honestly know how long it'll keep me out. I can't get a hold of anything long enough to _know_."

Wirt eased back so he could face him, hands moving so he could cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking along the worry lines. "So there's… there's nothing we can do? Nothing to stop him from hurting you?"

"At this point, I think it'd take a miracle and our sources of those are currently in Hell." The sum's eyes closed, soaking in the comforting gesture and pushing it everywhere he could through the rest of his being. "I'm not going to give up, though, I swear. I'll push everything I can to alert my consciousness and keep fighting. Until then, I just need you to stay safe. Keep Greg and Mabel safe too, pilgrim."

"But I want to keep you safe, too…" Wirt leaned in, rubbing their noses together. "I haven't been doing a good job of that, and I'm- I'm _sorry_. I'm so sorry, Dipper. I should've- I should've _pushed_ …"

"No, it's okay. You're okay, babe. Don't even- I'm not mad at you. None of me blames you for this. It's always easy to underestimate Bill when you don't-" Dipper cringed suddenly, his eyes changing. The whites melted into flashes of images, colors going wild for a few seconds before shifting back to normal. He lifted a hand, pressing it to his temple as if to rub away a headache. "Crap. You're about to get shot out of here so fast... I'm sorry, Wirt. I can't..."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Wirt latched onto his free hand, lacing their fingers together as if holding onto him could keep him from being… shot out of anywhere. 

He felt a tug, in the very center of his being, something trying to pull him back but it wasn't like being shot out of anything. It was hesitant and fearful, worried about the way it felt like he was anchoring himself to another mind. Was it himself? Wirt pushed that away for the time being, more focused on his boyfriend.

"There's got to be more I can do to help you." Wirt squeezed his hand.

Dipper took his other hand and rose, his hold gentle. His mind beyond this room was in chaos, and it tugged at him a lot harder than Wirt tugged on himself. "You just have to wait until I can fight. When the time's up and I _can_ be woken up, do your best. In the meantime...

"Please keep Mabel safe and Greg. And yourself. When Crowley and Aziraphale get back, you have to trust them. And..." He released his hands but lifted up, arms wrapping around his neck so his fingers could curl into his shirt. "You didn't see memories of you because you have your own hallway. It's close to the stairs that lead up here so I always have easy access to them because you mean so much to me. Now hold onto what I'm about to share with you, okay? This is why I'm fighting.

"I love you," he whispered and let Wirt feel the depths of the emotion. Everything he felt for him, bared and vulnerable. "He can't touch this on my end. Don't let him on yours. Stay strong, poetic pilgrim."

"Dipper," Wirt pleaded, gripping him about his waist, the wealth of love staggering. Nothing was held back as it cocooned him, tender tendrils caressing him beyond any physical feeling and the ferocity of it all-encompassing. He didn't want to leave him on his own. "I love you, too. I love you. You're not alone, okay? I'll fight for you. I love you-"

It _was_ like getting shot out. Without warning he was ripped away, something forcing him out, clawing and tearing until there was a blip of nothingness, the briefest of seconds, and then he was gasping, falling. When he landed on the attic floor with a thud, his mind reminded him that he'd been on the edge of the bed. Panting heavily, Wirt pressed his hand over his thundering heart, gaze flicking about the darkness of the attic.

"Dipper," he breathed, pushing himself up into a sitting position as the world tilted around him. Or maybe his consciousness was rattling around inside himself, trying to get resituated.

Almost too soft to be heard, there was a giggle from the bed. It slowly grew in volume until Dipper's body was cackling, Bill's voice an eerie undercurrent. "Thanks for the help, Music Note! You were a real team player!"

Legs swung off the edge and he leaned down, hands grasping Wirt's shirt and yanking him up. Dipper's eyes were golden. "We're gonna have a _great_ time."

What little air he'd managed to regain rushed out of him as he stared into his eyes. Wirt grabbed onto his wrists, holding fast to him. "Yeah," he choked out, bravado fighting fear, chin tilting up as his stubborn nature reared its head. "Until the sleeping pills wear off, then you're out."

"You think so? That's really cute, Music Note. Really." He jerked out of his grip, then grasped his forearms, forcing him up. They rolled across the bed, Wirt landing firmly in a patch of something wet. Bipper slammed his wrists into the pillow and sneered. "You know, this is really close to a fantasy good old Pine Tree's been trying to repress. Wait'll he finds out your dick's broken."

Laughing, he rolled out of bed, grabbing something on his way up. It glinted in the light of the moon peeking in through the clear windows, and something seemed to drip from the end of it when Bipper pointed it at Wirt. "You'll all have to live long enough to find out, though, and I don't think any of you will."

A snap of his fingers switched on the lights, the bedside lamp bulb shattering in his overzealousness. He hadn't called up a miracle wearing a body in a few thousand years, after all. Discorporations needed more oomph, but this was different. He didn't let the surprise of it slow him down though, enjoying the shattering sound of glass and letting the overhead light reveal the blade dripping with blood and the bedsheets soaking in more. His smile was too wide. "I'm in charge now, Music Note. What are you gonna do about it?"

The question might as well not have even registered as Wirt stared at the blood sliding down the knife, the sudden, blinding brightness nothing compared that. The bright, shining red glistened against the metal and against the sheets he was sprawled on. His stomach lunged into his throat as he scrambled to sit up, back pressed to the wall.

"Oh my god." Horror choked him. He was bleeding, Dipper was bleeding. He could see the line trickling down his leg, over his knee and along the slope of his calf. He hurt him, and he was going to keep hurting him.

Wirt jumped up from the bed, careful to sidestep around the tip of the knife as the demon possessing his boyfriend continued to point it at him. He needed to get it out of his hand. Grabbing the arm that held the weapon, Wirt attempted to wrench it out of his grasp and kicked at his ankle to throw him off balance, forcing his weight against him. But Bipper had Dipper's fighting prowess and Bill's madness on his side, simply slamming the knife back into his already wounded thigh. He spun, using Wirt's own weight against him to push him into the desk. 

Computers screens toppled and papers scattered, Bill's maddening laughter an echoing sound. There and not. "Aw, look at you. Trying so hard to fix things. You're pathetic and you know it."

"You-" His voice cracked, fear clenching around his vocal chords as he trembled. "You're not much better. You had to drug him just to make sure he wouldn't kick you out. Because you're scared, you know he's tougher than you. And so are Aziraphale and Crowley. You're running on borrowed time."

He grabbed Wirt's shirt with one hand, wrenching him closer and yanking the blade out to hold it dangerously close to his throat. "Brains over brawn, Music Note. If they were better than me, a _feather_ wouldn't have fooled anyone. They're _ignoring_ what I'm capable of and that's on them." More than on just the angel and demon of Earth. He was going to destroy more than just the planet. "Now... I've been missing Tea Kettle. What do you think he and Shooting Star are doing?" 

"You're not touching them." Despite every instinct screaming at him to push him away, get the bloodied blade away from his neck, Wirt clenched his fists in his shirt. His gaze darted from Bill's eyes to Dipper's throat and tried not to think about his boyfriend's blood touching his skin. "You're- you're playing with me right now."

The blade pressed into his throat, the sting forcing a soft gasp from the boy as Bill sneered at him. "You know he's asleep, don't you? He can't come to your rescue. He can't come to _anyone's_ rescue." 

Bill's fist plowed into Wirt's stomach and he was quick to leap back when his grip faltered. A hand slapped down to his thigh, blue flame tickling his fingers and cauterizing the bloody wound. It brought intense waves of pain, a sweat breaking across Dipper's brow, but Bill only chuckled. 

"It's hilarious the way these bodies react to pain! Too bad Pine Tree won't remember a single second of this."

Satisfied by the state of the wound, Bipper advanced on Wirt again. A sharp, red cut marred his neck, dotted with bubbles of blood that smeared against the teenager's trembling hand as he applied pressure to it. Oh no, none of that. He gripped Wirt's shirt, throwing him across the room, towards the window and far away from the door. 

"But you know who will remember the pain?" He smiled, too wide for the face he was controlling, and darted from the room.

"No!" Wirt scrambled to his feet to race after him, his body aching, but pure adrenaline forced him up and down the stairs. "Stay away from them! Greg! Mabel!"

He was met with a locked door, Bill able to use his powers to keep the door to Mabel's room shut nice and tight. Bipper very quietly creeping up to the bed they slept in. He staggered a little, lips still stretched into a grin that was too wide for Dipper's face. He climbed onto the edge of the bed, crawling up slowly to avoid disturbing either sleeping sibling.

Mabel's wrists were grabbed, pressed to the pillow on either side of her head. She stirred, eyes squinting in the dark. "Dipper?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

His eyes flashed gold, sudden beacons in the dim light, and he was absolutely thrilled by the way her body jolted beneath the one he was currently holding hostage. "Not quite, Shooting Star."

She was screaming even before blue flames surrounded his hands and seared her wrists. Unable to focus on splitting his powers two ways, his control of the door slipped, but this was so much better. Mabel didn't even fight him, that blood curdling scream the only thing she could manage. His laugh, a gross imitation of Dipper's, joined it as he squeezed her tighter.

As the door flew open, banging against the wall, Greg's fist collided with Dipper's face. "Get off her!" he screamed at him as Wirt locked his arm around his neck and yanked Bipper back.

He cackled, elbowing Wirt and twisting enough to flip the teen over his shoulder. He was about to burn the whole bed when his attention was caught by a different energy. 

"One sec, kids. I've got an idiot to boss around." He darted to the window, opening it with a snap, and leapt out without caring how high they were. It was a miracle he didn't at least sprain his ankles, but he was chuckling as he approached his fellow demon. "Hastur! Welcome back from Hell. How was it? Dim and wretched?" 

Hastur ignored the second question. "Every demon is on the alert. Broadcasted loud and clear, discorporate on sight. Crowley and the angel won't last long down there."

"Music to my ears." Bill cracked Dipper's knuckles, pleased with himself but not stupid enough to rely on Hell alone. "Did you bring Hellfire up with you? I'm gonna need some."

Hastur procured a black jug, handing it to Bill for inspection. "See for yourself. Straight from the pit. More than enough to burn this town to the ground. And any angels who might try to get in the way."

An angel is exactly what Bill had in mind. He miracled a small bottle and siphoned some of the flame, wafting his hands over it just to make sure he wouldn't lose the vessel, and grinned sharply when it didn't even tingle. Perfect. "Thank you so much, Hastur. Pleasure doing business with you. Now be mindful of the gas station. Don't get yourself discorporated in the explosion, or you'll miss all the fun."

"What do you take me for?" he sneered. "Like I'd lose my corporation twice to the likes of Crowley. The paperwork was bad enough the first time 'round."

"Tell me about it." Though he'd never even bothered to go get the stupid body. He'd discovered that he hadn't needed one to play with the real world after some dimension hopping. Using Dipper was more for the image than anything. And, thinking of image... 

He snapped, donning a dark, priestly suit. Classic. Two of the three remaining kids would get the joke and that was good enough for him. "Leave the Shack here alone. I'll need access to it later. But go enjoy yourself in town."

Hastur huffed, unimpressed with the attire he chose. "With pleasure. There won't be anything left when I'm through with it." A sinister grin did spread across his lips as he said, "They'll all burn."

"That's the goal." Bill looked back up at the Shack, the window he'd leapt from and all the lights that had turned on. Winning was fun. "I'm gonna go pop over to Northwest Manor, give it a new ashen look." And wait for Crowley and Aziraphale to return. He wasn't going to be underestimating anyone this time. Except probably Hastur. And the majority of Hell. Oh well. They didn't have to win the war. They just had to help destroy the world. "You have fun."

Hastur planned on it. Ligur had always been of the opinion that there was no greater past time than in senseless murder on a massive scale, and Hastur was inclined to agree. Not to mention fire was always so much fun to play with.

He wasn't disappointed.

He started with the gas station. One spark of Hellfire was all it took to ignite the petrol and the four pumps exploded, one after another. They fed the flames with their oil and fossil fuels, creating an infernal inferno starving for more. More heat, more kindling, more death. Hell's smoke billowed into the sky, a thick, black fog that blotted out the moon and stars. It bathed the town of Gravity Falls in red as ash rained down on the sleeping town to choke each human nestled snug in their beds.

Hastur cackled as he left the gas station to burn, the Hellfire already eating away at the neighboring trees, leaping from branch to branch. As he strolled down the street, he waved the Hellfire on in its devastating spiral into a used car lot. Engines exploded one by one, like popcorn kernels bursting in the heat. The diner was next, the log shaped building looking much cozier when it was ablaze with roaring fire. His laughter grew more manic, heightened in pitch as he practically danced down the street, towards the town's center. He could see a steeple poking out over the tops of trees. A _church_. In a colony of _Hell_. Oh… oh that would be the grand finale. The eye of his Hellfire storm. 

He doused the town's library and museum in torrential downpour of fire on his way to the church at the center of the town's pitiful square, decades of history dissolving into dust with each lick of flame. The cinema was next. Crowley taunted him in a cinema once, it deserved to burn. People were screaming, awake now that the infernal embers lit up the night through closed curtains and the smell of smoke urged them from their beds. Sirens wailed in the summer night, but they could hardly be heard over the roaring fire. 

They could be heard atop the Northwest's mountain, though, an angel and a demon just as concerned as when we left them last chapter. They were just less alone than they'd assumed.

" _Shit_."

"Hurry, Crowley. We haven't a moment to lose." 

"Oh, Angel Cake, you've got a _lot_ more than that to lose. Besides, I think the town is gonna be a little... beyond you." Bill stepped out from the shadows of the building, Dipper's lips curled into a smile of mad glee. "How was Hell? It's usually garbage this time of year."

Aziraphale stiffened as he looked over the possessed boy. "What have you done? Get out of that boy immediately."

"Oh, let me think about- No." He laughed, fiddling with his cuff. "At least not yet. I don't need this body for a long time, just a good one."

"The Hell are you wearing?" Crowley demanded, stepping closer to Aziraphale. He could feel the Hellfire rippling, knew there was more of it nearby than what was in town. A nearly silent snap had Aziraphale's books safely tucked in the Bentley just in case he went for the manor. 

"Just a little joke between me and the kids. Oh, you should've seen their faces. Almost as good as yours, Angel Cake." He sneered at Crowley, eyeing his jacket. "But what are _you_ wearing? Smells disgustingly angelic."

Crowley's growl rumbled up from deep in his chest. "Ssshut up."

Aziraphale's stare hardened as he continued to survey the demon, reaching out for even a scrap of the love he'd been able to feel radiating off the teenager for his family, his town. "I don't sense him. The boy- Dipper Pines. What have you done with him? Did you tear him out of his body again, you fiend?"

"No, see, I've learned a few things about these kids and I know how to push this one out of the driver's seat. He's just... locked in the trunk. Kinda like this guy." He snapped and Crowley made a sound somewhere in the back of his throat. Bill's smile widened when Crowley yanked a sharp blade out of his side and used a miracle to heal the wound. "Why else wouldn't _you_ possess the kid, Snake Eyes?" 

The miracle didn't remove the blood that seeped into Crowley's clothes, the material too dark to really show it, but his shirt shone with wet when Aziraphale looked him over. They didn't need to bleed, but it took some level of anticipation and this attack had been so sudden. A streak of white light lit up the sky through the smoky haze, like lightning in its jagged rays. Aziraphale's gaze remained on Crowley's face as the remnants of pain faded with the wound's closing, his own expression cold once the initial shock wore off. 

A second bolt of light crackled at Bill's feet, mere centimeters from the tips of grass and the shiny black of his shoes. The unmistakable divinity electrified the air even as it faded from sight, alight in the angel's eyes as he finally tilted his head to consider Bill. 

"Watch your step," Aziraphale advised, each word carrying a weight with it, a warning.

_That_ required a little bit of recalculation. He hadn't expected the perfect little angel to actually be willing to kill Dipper just for a demon. It didn't show in his bright grin, though. "Go ahead and kill the kid, Angel Cake. I don't _need_ a ride to do what I need and your little lightshow won't kill me. And I can hide. Even from your boyfriend."

He could, apparently, at least when discorporated. Crowley hadn't noticed when they'd arrived from Hell only because he'd been so focused on the angel. He very carefully strengthened the material in his clothes, something he'd done countless times before when he'd been ordered to do or had just felt like doing something that could involve knives and guns coming his way. "I don't think it's wise to try tempting an angel, Cipher. It won't end well for you."

No, it wouldn't. The fact that it wouldn't end well for young Dipper Pines either was really the only thing keeping Aziraphale from smiting the demon where he stood. Whether by holy water or another method, in that moment the angel was certain that if he expected to end Cipher, then he would.

Sparing a thought to clean the blood from Crowley's clothes, Aziraphale straightened his own and took a steadying breath while he still could. With Hellfire embers in the air, he'd be wise to completely turn off his lungs before they spread too far. They needed a plan. Something to stop the fires from destroying the town, something to stop Cipher.

"What about the other children? What have you done with them?" Aziraphale demanded of him. Cipher liked to brag, they could keep him here talking while they figured out a way to transfer him into the vessel they'd brought up from Hell.

It didn't quite work as planned, though, Bill's eyes flickering red. "Not enough," he decided and was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last week! I (Skim) was wrapping up things with a second job that I have and it just wiped me out for the rest of the week. We'll be posting chapter 14 sometime this week too to make up for it! Possibly Friday.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and for your comments! We always look forward to seeing what you have to say or what you think of things! Especially now that we're in the climax :)


	14. Chapter 14

"Can't believe I let that little gobshite stab me," Crowley complained, the Bentley roaring down the mountain as they needed the few minutes it would give them to formulate a plan. 

His mind was nowhere near his mouth, though, shooting through ways to collect and contain this much Hellfire. A town like this should have a well of some sort somewhere, surely. Strong enough demonic miracle to get it all into a bottle or maybe a cauldron with a lid and throw that into a lake if there wasn't a well. Or their stupid watertower. A miracle to topple that maybe.

"Hours in Hell and _nothing_ , but five bloody minutes back up here..."

"Obviously being on Earth and in other dimensions has benefitted Cipher's ability to think on his feet," Aziraphale reasoned. "And we couldn't have known that he knew about you sealing yourself in your corporation. But we shan't underestimate him again. We'll get the holy water, so we have it ready, then we just force him out of Dipper and into his rightful body and all's well that ends well. After we stop the town from burning to the ground, that is." 

"Angel, that's not a _we_ problem. It's a _me_ problem. You should go find the kids. Huddle them back into their Shack with demon kid outside and fix the barrier. Whatever happened with it."

Aziraphale scoffed. "Absolutely not. Then you'll be trapped outside of it, too. Even if we do fix the barrier, that doesn't help us remove Cipher from the boy-" He stopped mid thought as an idea occurred to him. "But we could seal him in. We could lure him back there and repair the barrier with him inside. That would at least keep him from wreaking more havoc on the town."

Plenty of havoc was being wreaked. Crowley could _feel_ the Hellfire even before they saw it, and it was greedily eating up all the old wooden buildings. As fast as it had devoured the little demon-man's building. As the flames finally came into direct view, Crowley gave himself permission to smack the steering wheel with both hands, swearing furiously at the whole situation for a few seconds.

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed, but even he couldn't tear his eyes away from the flames, sitting a bit more stiffly at the sight of them. "Is that helping?"

"It's helping _me_." Which was plenty of justification, in his opinion. He gestured at the flaming town below, still very annoyed but more willing to think. "Hastur," and he growled the name, "is the one wreaking havoc on the town. If I can nab him, I can discorporate him somehow or another and then package up all the Hellfire. Dunno how we'll make it to the bloody kids otherwise."

"Alright, so we'll stop them both." Aziraphale made a pressing gesture with his hands, distracting himself from the Hellfire so his mind could concoct a better plan than just "stop them." "I'll miracle the townspeople to safety, while you contain the Hellfire and Hastur, then the path to the children will be clear and we can go from there."

Crowley started to argue, but stopped. Maybe it was a _we_ problem. "You could do that. Be very helpful, actually."

"I thought so. Then we could direct our full attention to our respective tasks." Aziraphale nodded to himself, appeased for the time being. 

The last thing he needed was to worry that Crowley would try to drop him somewhere and swan off in the Bentley. If Cipher knew that Crowley couldn't leave his corporation, who was to say he hadn't slipped that information to Hastur as well? It was best to stick relatively close to one another. At least as close as they could when one of them had to stop Hellfire. 

"Can you sense where Cipher has gone?" the angel asked, "I'm not sure how much time we have for damage control before he strikes with something else."

"The good thing about him being in the boy is he can't hide. So yes and he's near their weird house. He's just... Well, he's not moving. It's like he's waiting for something. Probably us, but-" Crowley shrugged with his hands lifting from the wheel, gesturing at the flames keeping one of them from easily getting closer to the Mystery Shack.

Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, gaze downturned as he sat in silence for a moment, appearing deep in thought. "There," he said after a beat. "I've blessed the house. Just as a precaution. I didn't want to do it while there was a chance it could make you uncomfortable, but it should protect them while we take care of things here. Providing they don't actually leave the house… Oh, we should probably telephone them and tell them we're back up," he realized, maybe a little belatedly. 

"Probably," Crowley agreed, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Energy crackled close enough that his eyes narrowed. _Hastur_. He pulled over onto a side street and parked beside a junkyard that hadn't yet gone up in flames. "You know how, don't you?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. How different could it possibly be from a normal telephone?" Aziraphale huffed, but when he looked at it, the screen was black. He tapped the screen, as he'd seen Crowley do numerous times before, but nothing happened. A frown creased his brow as he turned it over in his hands, looking for a switch. "Is it on?"

"The button under the- No, the round-" Sighing, he leaned over and pressed the button beneath the screen to wake it up. "Phone icon, missed calls, the girl one. I need to _go_ , angel, or he'll run off." He hopped out of the Bentley. "If you see _any_ flames near this spot, don't get out. Just miracle everyone to the manor. It's big enough and not on fire and you can do that from right here."

"Ah, excellent idea, my dear. I'll do just that. Except the staying right here part. I won't know if I've helped everyone if I can't see them all," he explained, as if it was perfectly rational. Aziraphale started tapping where he'd been directed on the phone's screen, remembering to look up before Crowley slammed the door. "Oh, do take care, Crowley. We'll meet back here if there's any trouble."

Of course he wasn't going to stay in the damn car, but Crowley couldn't argue. The longer he lingered, the more the Hellfire would spread. "I'll be fine, angel. You'd never forgive me if anything happened to your tartan collar." With a smirk, he shut the door and was off to squish a toad. 

"It's not the collar I'm concerned about," he huffed, well-aware Crowley couldn't hear him, but rolled his eyes just the same. "Ridiculous creature."

Aziraphale watched said ridiculous demon saunter off, phone ringing as he tried to figure out how to hold it against his ear. He felt rather silly, like he was pressing a brick to his face, but desperate times. He lit up as he heard the line click over.

"Ah, hello! It's me, the principality Aziraphale. We received your messages on the telephone and we know about Cipher. So sorry, there was no reception in Hell. Are you all alright?"

"Mostly. We have bandages, and there was an explosion but- Yes, Greg, it's them, baby. I'm gonna put you on speaker," she told Aziraphale and there were more voices on her end. 

"You've gotta stop Bipper!" Greg cried out. "He's blowing everything up!"

Aziraphale closed his eyes and braced himself, hand curling into a fist against his thigh. He didn't know what a 'Bipper' was, though he vaguely recalled reading something about it in the notes he'd been given, but that didn't matter. He understood that the child meant Cipher.

"Crowley said he's outside your home now," he told them. "You can look out your windows to see if you can spot him, but don't go outside. I'm assuming your barrier is down if he was able to get into the house, so I've blessed it. It's not as effective, but it will hurt him and impact his powers, which I'm sure he doesn't want. I've been told blessed things can cause quite the inner ear ache. That should keep you safe until we can get there."

"But what about Dipper?" Wirt croaked, and Aziraphale could hear the tears he was trying to fight back in his throat. "We left the piece of Bill still in him, Aziraphale. Now he's trapped in his own head with it. He's asleep, he can't wake up- he can't fight _back_."

"I don't think he'll do any irreparable damage to him. Not while he needs the vessel," Aziraphale attempted to soothe, uncertain if an angel's comfort could carry across the phone lines - let alone the wavelengths from a cell tower. The fact that Dipper couldn't wake up was also alarming enough that his concentration was split between consoling the children and piecing together the puzzle. "Crowley and I are still trying to come up with a plan of action, but first we need to stop the town from burning down. The demon from before, Hastur, he's back and he's brought more Hellfire with him. Once we've secured the town, we'll come to you."

"Should we put the barrier back up? I just haven't been able to find any of the supplies and Grunkle Ford is out cold. I think he's testing his sleeping pills again. One night he was out for three whole days because he made them a little too strong. Dip- Dipper's been helping him some." There was a frantic edge under Mabel's cheerful ramblings. "And poor Grunkle Stan is probably still hungover so we haven't woken him up. He wouldn't know anyway. Wirt, do you see him?" 

"No… not on this side."

"Putting up the barrier involves you going outside. I'd advise against it for now," Aziraphale told her, peering out the windshield as he noticed a handful of people running down the street. He snapped, imagining the Northwest manor, and they were gone in a flash. "Wait until Crowley and I can get there and provide you with some level of protection. Cipher's abilities will be different now that he's in a physical host, though I know you're quite aware of that. He knows that, too, however, and he might not waste any time with you."

There was a beat of silence, then Greg spoke up quietly, "But Dipper wouldn't let him kill us…"

"Dipper's asleep, Greg," Wirt's voice cracked. "He's trusting us to save him this time."

Screams echoed further down the street. Aziraphale could see more smoke billowing in the air and knew he was running out of time. He opened the door - because he didn't see flames right outside the Bentley, only smoke - and stepped onto the sidewalk. A strange old man in dungarees scampered past him after an animal, something very animal-like about the man himself, shouting about his wife. The poor confused creature and the raccoon were running straight for the flames, so he quickly snapped both to safety. He'd try to find that man's poor wife as well.

"I have to go. The fires are getting worse and people are in danger. We'll call you again once we're en route. Keep your heads down and… and arm yourselves for protection. Dipper wouldn't want anything to happen to you. Or the two old men."

"We will," Mabel promised. The fear was still there, but it was wrapped in steel. She was a Pines too. "He wouldn't want anyone in town to get hurt again either. So good luck."

"Thank you, to you as well. Pip pip." Aziraphale didn't know how to hang up when there wasn't a cradle to lay the phone into. He waited for the screen to tell him that the call ended, then eventually it went black and he determined it safe to place in his pocket.

Now, with that settled, he had a job to do and to do it quickly. He tugged on his coat sleeves, adjusted his waistcoat, and made sure his collar was pressed just so even without his bowtie. Right, to work.

\----

Angels were formed fighters. Their fallen side was just scrappier in their tactics. Maybe not in the original war, where they'd all been angels still and battling how God had programmed them was the most natural route, but after thousands of years to adjust? Angels were still neat soldiers, but demons were dirty chaos. Guerilla warfare would be their game, attacking full force and full fury. 

Crowley typically preferred a more verbal approach, more mind games. Considering Cipher, perhaps that's how the world shaped demons versus how Hell did, but he didn't quite have that madness, that keenness for destruction that Cipher did. 

Thank Somebody that he'd been able to earn his way into the garden. Humans would've been snuffed out at the first had Cipher won that honor instead of being placed at the colony. He probably would've fed Eve a poisoned apple. 

The thought alone irritated him even more than he already was, so he was a sight more than _tetchy_ when he saw Hastur and his jug of flame in front of the church. He directed it almost like an orchestrator directing musicians, though the violent crackling over bricks and old wooden buildings wasn't anymore pleasantly musical than the distant screams. Aziraphale would definitely not still be in the car so he'd have to watch for him on the way back. And hope with every fiber of his being that Someone still cared enough about him to help keep him safe. He'd lost him to flame once. Never again. 

So he didn't waste time with mind games or verbal assaults or any of his normal ways. He went demon. Scrappy, dirty demon fighting. 

The moment he saw Hastur, he was also right behind him to grab his shoulder, whirl him around, and punch him solidly, squarely in the jaw. "That's more than enough fucking Hellfire, Hastur," he snarled. 

The demon staggered back a step out of the middle of the street between a cracked statue of the town's supposed founder and its church, hand thumbing away the spit that collected on his lower lip. "Oh, I don't think so, Crowley. It won't be enough until this entire planet burns and all the people on it," he gurgled, something akin to giddiness hiding in the hollow black of his eyes. "You can't stop it this time."

As payback, Hastur lunged forward and jammed his fist into Crowley's gut, relishing in the soft give of the human-like flesh, fat, and organs and the grunt that accompanied it. "You'll burn along with it. You and your angel."

Crowley's eyes glowed dangerously behind his sunglasses, hiss filled with malice as a second blow was stopped with a quick grab of Hastur's fist, a jerk to stumble him forward, and a sharp upward snap of an elbow to crack his nose. "Don't threaten my angel," he warned. "Don't even _mention_ him again or I'll do a lot worse than just discorporate you."

"I'd like to see you try," Hastur snarled. "Flash bastard."

He stooped down and picked up a partially melted pipe amongst the rubble. Wielding it like a bat, he swung at Crowley with the intent to bash him in the skull. He missed, but recovered quickly and tried to crack him with it again.

"Don't know what tricks you played last time, with the holy water, but this time I won't just knock you unconscious, I'll knock you right out of that bloody spindly body!"

He hadn't been told about the brand, then. Good. And a very good thing that Hastur had always been among the dumber of the Dukes. "If a free fall into Hell couldn't do that, dunno why you think you can," he taunted as he dodged. "And spindly! Why, Hastur, your vocabulary's got better."

"And yours is about to get worse." Hastur whacked at him again, this time going for his knees.

Crowley simply stopped having them, all scales as he slithered around his fellow demon. The momentum caused Hastur to stumble forward when there was nothing to hit, so it was easy to reform human behind him. "A knife and a bloody pipe. And you two think you're going to restart Armageddon? Honestly," he muttered, pulling the trigger of a pistol that was suddenly in his hand. He knew better than anyone how fragile human bodies could be, how fragile his own was in certain circumstances. 

The bullet severed Hastur from his corporation instantly. His body collapsed in a heap on the ground and the gun vanished from sight. Crowley rolled his shoulders, a little miffed that no one had actually seen him be quite that cool, but, "I would've _loved_ to drag that out a bit more, Hastur, but I really don't have time." Not with Aziraphale so close to so much Hellfire. The ground opened up, swallowing the corporation, and left behind an empty jug. He plucked it up, and turned to the nearest flames to start drawing Hellfire off buildings and into the container. 

The gunshot and the sudden disappearance of a demon on Earth had attracted the attention of two others, however. Aziraphale heard it as he herded Mayor Tyler, Lazy Susan, Sheriff Blubs, and Deputy Durland away from the flames and to safety at the manor. It had come from the direction Crowley had gone. He whirled about, face ashen as he retraced his steps for the second time now, caught up in dizzying circles when he'd been cut off on his first path by a wall of Hellfire that engulfed the town's cinema. Forced to turn around, he sensed more people off the main road anyway, in the residences rather than the businesses of the city's center. Though the smoke filled the air with its thick haze, Aziraphale could still sense his demon and used that to guide him back towards the thick of it. The fact that he could feel Crowley provided some relief, but that didn't mean they were in the clear yet.

When he saw him, jug in hand and Hellfire trickling back into it with no Hastur in sight, he placed a hand over his heart and sagged under the comfortable weight of assurance that he was alright. "Crowley. Oh, thank Heaven- or, er… Thank _Somewhere_ , at least. I heard the gunshot." He made to approach him, only hesitating while the flames still flickered wildly as they were sucked in. Best to keep a comfortable distance between them still, he decided unhappily. "Are you alright?"

Crowley didn't pause, free hand guiding the flames into the opening, but he frowned. He hadn't considered how a firearm might sound to his angel. "M'fine, love. He was swinging a bloody pipe about like I had time for it, so I thought a gun would be a bit more efficient. Seemed fitting, being in the States and all. He might try to come back, but he'll have to finish all the paperwork first. Should be plenty of time for us to finish."

"Ah…" Aziraphale's hands fluttered, feeling oddly exposed without his bowtie snug against his throat, the undone buttons at his collar revealing the way he swallowed as he watched Crowley's silhouette against the fire and flames gleaming in his sunglasses. "Right. Yes. Jolly good. I've ah- miracled most of the west side of town to safety. I'll just do one last check. Make sure no one was missed, but I couldn't make it past the cinema. Er. That way." Aziraphale pointed in the direction of more smoke. "East. There's still too much Hellfire, I'm afraid."

"Right. The place isn't radiating fear anymore, and it seems to just be businesses over there. All closed for the night, so I don't think anyone's been affected anyway. Hellfire... burns a little different after it's swallowed someone." With this section of the Hellfire scooped up, Crowley capped the jug and lifted up a miracle to fix the buildings that had been ravaged. He didn't waste energy on the ruined statue.

"Think I'll head towards the gas station up there." Crowley gestured vaguely behind him and, after a pause, inky black wings unfurled behind him. The town was bonkers enough that he really didn't think anyone would think twice if they did see him flying. It was dark anyway, so if anyone did question it, they'd be easy enough to convince that it was a trick of the flame and the night. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting easily to the familiar weight. "I'll circle around, clear up the path to the kids, fix what I can easily. _You_ stay out of trouble, and I'll meet you at the Bentley."

Aziraphale's eyes widened as he drank in the sight of his wings, feathers beautiful and sleek, as cared for as any other aspect of Crowley's appearance. There weren't many opportunities to see one another's wings, but from what he could remember, he did always find them quite devastating. In the best of ways. He placed a staying hand over his heart and reminded himself not to breathe with all the ash still in the air. They still had a job to do, and this was not helping one bit. 

"Yes, well, I'll ask that you do the same," he huffed, snapping his fingers when a family of lumberjacks went racing in the direction of the smoke like they could actually do something to stop literal flames from Hell with axes and their bare hands. Hopefully they wouldn't run headfirst into any of the trees on the Northwest's property when they reappeared there. "Mind how you go."

Hm. Apparently fear wasn't a thing some of this crazy town knew how to feel. He shook his head. "I'm _fine_ , angel. You're the one who's a lot closer to Hellfire than I'd like. At least _try_ to be careful for me."

Aziraphale sighed, allowing some of his indignation to melt away. "Of course I will, Crowley. Don't you worry, I'm not about to let myself be destroyed, especially not by the hands of Hastur and Cipher. Just think how utterly humiliating that would be." He flashed him a teasing smile before heading back to make certain every house was safe and empty. Possibly put more distance between himself and the flames, as well 

While he'd do all he could to reassure Crowley, the Hellfire truly was a bit too close for comfort. He could still feel the heat of it through his skin, even after turning off his corporation's ability to acknowledge temperature. Hellfire went beyond his physicality, taunting the very center of his angelic nature with its snaps and sparks. He manifested a handkerchief to dab at his brow as he miracled entire families up to the Northwest Manor. The heat was oppressive, the same weight it carried in Hell, except with the added danger of being close enough to see the flames. Its evil intent prickled at his skin, stinging it like a sunburn. He supposed it made sense. If consecrated ground could feel like hot sand to a demon, then why wouldn't cursed fire feel like being cooked over an open flame to an angel? 

Every instinct in him that called for self-preservation told him to stay away from the center of town, to head back to the Bentley once the homes were all evacuated. Though, he supposed he'd never been too good at listening to that self-preservation. Self-preservation also said he shouldn't have befriended a demon or allowed himself to come so close to discorporation, yet here he was.

As more of the Hellfire was contained by Crowley across town, the smoke in the sky began to dissipate and made the businesses seem like less of a danger. He had to reconsider avoiding them as the flames died down. What if people had flats above the businesses like he did? What if someone was working late? What if there was a library suffering the fate his bookshop had in another reality? It was Aziraphale's angelic duty to keep all of humanity safe from Hellish influence, so he had to at least check. 

As long as the flames didn't touch him, he'd be fine. He wouldn't dare get close enough to risk that, so if things looked too bebop-shaped, then he'd head straight for the Bentley, away from the Hellfire. He would not do that to Crowley.

At least not by choice and there was still a demon who was very willing to take the choice away from him. He'd always wanted to get back at the angels, even one who wasn't part of the official ranks anymore, so bided his time until he could corner him thoroughly. 

"Hey, there, Angel Cake. Looking a little hot under the collar there."

It wasn't entirely unexpected, Aziraphale supposed, though he froze in place as Cipher's voice lilted somewhere behind him. He straightened his shoulders and squared up to face him. It was a little disconcerting to see the boy instead of the triangle, but he didn't allow it to rattle him anymore than he did the fact that he was between Cipher and Hellfire. 

"Yes, well, that's no thanks to you and your lackey," he replied coolly.

"Aw, a Duke of Hell for a lackey." Bill pushed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, and smiled too brightly. "I'm flattered you know who's in charge. But he did give me some... interesting information about you."

"I find it hard to believe he's capable of harboring anything that could be considered remotely interesting, but I do have standards, I suppose." Aziraphale gestured to him as politely as possible. "Enlighten me."

"Funny you should put it that way." A slim container slipped out of his pocket, the cap popping off and instantly discharging a torrent of Hellfire straight for him. Hungry, angry, volatile-

And blocked. Just barely, the vibrant reds and oranges glowing just behind silky black feathers. Arms banded around the angel, holding him tight and close, while they were both encased in Hellfire. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley managed, his name oddly choked as he hoped - maybe even prayed - that he really had made it in time and that he could keep him safe with the same stubbornness he'd driven his burning Bentley with the year before. 

Every inch of the angel was pinned against Crowley, still as stone and braced for the burning flames to eat away at his divinity. " _Fuck_."

But despite the searing heat and promise of torment just inches from his corporation's skin, Aziraphale didn't burn. His fingers clung to the lapels of Crowley's blazer as he realized what the demon was doing, then immediately expected to survive this because Crowley wouldn't stand for anything else. As long as he stood in the way of the flames, Aziraphale would go untouched. With his face tucked against his shoulder, Aziraphale huddled closer to ride out the wave of Hellfire, safe in his feathery cocoon even as it started to tremble.

"Crowley?"

"I-" The single syllable was enough permission, apparently, for his laugh to spill out. Relief and shock tangled too tightly for him to do anything else. "Did _you_ really just say that?" 

"Say what? Why on Earth are you laughing at a time like this?" he demanded, half muffled against his jacket.

Crowley rubbed his back for solid reassurance even as the laughter still shook in his chest. He was alright and he'd stay that way until Crowley's last breath - or whatever the demonic equivalent was. "You said 'fuck.' Out loud. Of all the last bloody words for you to have, it would've been that. Really?" 

"Oh." Aziraphale couldn't tell if his face was warm from the Hellfire or a bit of humiliation, but as Crowley's hand stroked along his back and the rumble of his laughter bounced him against his chest, he quite quickly found himself hiding his own smile regardless of the reason. "Er… Yes, I suppose it would've been. Oh, come now Crowley, it's not that funny." Except now he was laughing, too. "It's not as if this is the first time I've said it."

He gasped, a little delighted and a little offended that he'd never heard it. "Wot?" 

"Oh, that's right. I suppose you don't know." Aziraphale grinned, turning his face into Crowley's neck. "And if this is how you're going to react, I'm not going to tell you."

"I think I'm reacting pretty appropriately, considering the circumstances. This day is trying really hard to be the worst in my entire life and you're keeping secrets." It was admittedly nice to have him so close, though. They'd have to do this again with one hundred percent less Hellfire. 

"I might consider telling you once we're home," he attempted to appease him, smile gentling. "Seeing as I do owe you some token of gratitude for coming to my rescue yet again."

"I felt him head into town and _knew_ he'd go straight for you. Killing him's gonna be extra satisfying." But just the fact that he _had_ been able to rescue Aziraphale this time was the only thing keeping the day from being the absolute worst. Walking into the burning bookshop and not feeling him anywhere still reigned. "Get the jug out of my pocket? Inside the coat. I shrank it down."

Shifting ever so carefully, extremely conscious of the fact that brushing even one of Crowley's feathers out of place could result in something disastrous, Aziraphale slid his hand down his chest and into his pocket. "Ah. I've got it, yes. Here, my dear." 

Just as careful, Crowley simply dropped it off to the side and gingerly kicked it behind himself where the Hellfire still raged. A little snap behind Aziraphale's back popped it open and sucked the raging inferno inside. He immediately didn't feel Cipher nearby, so let his shoulders relax on a small sigh. He made no move to disentangle himself from his angel just yet, though. "He's moved back towards the Shack. Learn anything useful in your chat with the kids?" 

"I learned how Cipher managed to incapacitate the boy," Aziraphale told him, sounding as if he deduced a great mystery, even if he'd basically been told point blank by Mabel herself. "Experimental narcotics."

Both brows lifted. "Strong stuff, I'm guessing, since you couldn't feel the kid at all."

"Their uncle apparently is in the middle of developing some new formula. Not the one you drank with, the other one. There's no way of telling how long he might be out for." Aziraphale raised his head a bit, their cheeks nearly brushing as he searched for his face in the dark cover of his wings. "I think I might have to go in and wake him that way."

An angel, demon, _and_ a human in one body? It could kill him. The boy, not the angel or the demon. "D'you think he'd be strong enough to handle that much energy? He handled a _shadow_ of me, you, and his boyfriend, but..." 

"I don't know," he answered honestly, smoothing his hand over Crowley's lapel, over the jacket he'd given him in Hell. "I could attempt to shroud his soul in my protection, but I don't know how much influence Cipher will have to combat it. Might just cancel it out." His lips curved in a slight, hopeful smile, though an undercurrent of worry glittered in his gaze. "He has to force Cipher out and I don't know that we have much time."

"Alright. I can keep him busy on the outside, split his concentration."

"Do you think it will work?"

Crowley's wings rustled a little when he shrugged, and he tipped his sunglasses down so Aziraphale could see his gaze and the seriousness in it. It wouldn't work if there was doubt, and he had faith in his angel. "I think it has to."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, caught in the depths of Crowley's stare as he _felt_ his faith. It thrummed within him like a wire pulled taut and plucked, reverberating in his essence as would the first few notes of a symphony. Though the danger had passed, the night dim and hazy with the smoke that lingered, he found his grip on him tightening once again. A need rippled through him and all that they'd endured caught up with him in a dizzying rush - not just this night, but every night since he'd been told things were afoot while in the middle of his sushi - and for once he leaned into it.

He leaned into Crowley and pressed their lips together, succumbing to the temptation of him for the first time. It was painfully brief, painfully _human_ , and everything the angel had ever wanted since he fell. Fell in love, that is.

Crowley tasted like the smoke in the air, and Aziraphale could feel it tingling on his own lips as he pulled back, lashes fluttering as he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he told him breathlessly. "I… I think so, too."

"Right..." So, _so_ right. The unexpected kiss had pressed his sunglasses into his cheeks, so he slipped them off fully. They fell to the ground and it really didn't matter. If he tasted of smoke, Aziraphale was like stardust. Fitting for his angel, his light in the darkness. He needed another sample. 

The hand that had dropped his glasses lifted, a snap stopping the wafting smoke and everything else right where it was. If they didn't have much time, he'd just make some more. Just a few minutes to pour six thousand years into their next meeting of lips, Crowley not willing to miss his chance to give. 

Aziraphale surged up to meet it, yanking him close as his fingers tugged on his jacket and delved into his hair to cradle the back of his head. He was as precious as any first edition, deserving of all the tender, gentle caresses he could offer him, but in the same vein there was a possessive edge to his grip and the way he kissed him back. Six thousand years in one kiss. It couldn't be done, but good Lord did they try. A swooping sensation rushed through the angel, much like it did when Crowley was behind the wheel except better, and this time he was willing to let him drive, to give him that lift he once promised and oh, did he deliver.

Not needing to breathe, they kissed until Crowley felt his grip on time slipping. It was so tempting to ignore it, to keep going until the world crumbled around them. It was too close of a possibility, though, and he was too greedy for more in the future. He broke the kiss with a murmur of "Love" because nothing else could possibly suffice, hold gentling just a little as their brows rested together. "You're the only thing Heaven got right."

"Oh, Crowley…" Aziraphale stroked down to the nape of his neck, keeping him close for a beat longer. "My dearest heart. They left out one important piece, I'm afraid. So much of my love was placed in you. They can hardly take all the credit." 

Crowley smiled, utterly besotted and not bothering to hide it with Aziraphale's taste still so fresh and new on his tongue. "Makes it sound like we were made for each other."

"Perhaps we were." Aziraphale flicked his gaze down to his mouth, the sweet curve of his lips he spent so often trying to hide. "God's plan is ineffable."

Laughing, letting himself be giddy just for a minute, Crowley let his wings settled behind him and stepped back, capturing one of Aziraphale's hands to kiss the back in order to avoid aiming for his mouth again. Precious bastard. "Hers aren't my concern right now. Ours are and mine currently involve stopping Cipher so I can get you home and alone for as long as possible."

"You wily, old serpent." Aziraphale's gaze was entirely too fond and absolutely smitten to be properly disapproving, not that he intended it to be. "Though I suppose mine somewhat aligns with yours. If all the Hellfire has been contained, then it's time we make our way to Cipher." The demon seemed to think it was time for the games to end, his pawns in place and ready to take complete control of the board, but he was still acting rashly, and that could be his downfall. "Though, how do you suggest we deal with that?" he nodded at the jug of Hellfire sitting innocently on the ground. "Can't very well leave that lying around."

"A well, a lake, an ocean, or we keep it in my safe in case Heaven wants to make a go next time." He plucked up and capped the jug. "Holy water's a little easier to come by than this."

"True." Though he wasn't sure how he felt about using something so destructive on Heaven's agents, as much as he disliked them. "We'll table it for now. Just put it in the trunk of your car until we decide what to do with it."

Crowley had already decided what to do with it. He'd kept a weapon like holy water on hand for an emergency and it didn't make sense to not keep at least a little bit of Hellfire too. He hadn't quite gotten around to asking Aziraphale to refill the thermos, unsure how he would take it even a year into having their side, but he'd figure something out. He always did. 

He tucked it into the corner of the Bentley's boot once they returned to the vehicle with very strict orders that it stay put and not _dare_ topple over or open or indulge in any ridiculous behavior at all. While the Bentley could handle it and Crowley could gather it back up again easy enough, it wasn't a risk he'd allow while Aziraphale or Aziraphale's books were inside. So the jug's options were to behave or, Crowley threatened, it could go back to Hastur. He couldn't think of a worse punishment and neither could the properly intimidated jug so he felt safe leaving it to slide behind the wheel. 

"You should probably stay in the car or go inside before you leave your corporation. Be one less thing to worry about if you think you can get to the boy without being right next to him."

"That does seem to be the most sensible course of action," Aziraphale agreed, though he was wringing his hands as he contemplated. "I should be able to direct myself to him. The tricky part will be getting in without his consent and with Cipher likely attempting to block me, but if you're distracting him, then that should give me enough of an opening." 

"Considering that he's knocked out, I'd think he's fair game for possession. And when you were actually discorporated," as much as Crowley would prefer pretending it hadn't happened, "you found me easy enough, didn't you? So you'll be fine." 

"Well, of course I found _you_. I never doubted that." He reached out to place his hand on Crowley's knee. "I'd find you anywhere. However, a boy I've only just met might take a bit more concentration, though I do appreciate your confidence in me."

"You may regularly get yourself into trouble, but you're still an angel." His angel, most importantly. "I know what you're capable of. Most of it, you could've gotten yourself out of easy enough if Heaven had ever actually let you do things."

Aziraphale couldn't help preening at that, his flush returning. While he knew he could be capable of great miracles, it was sweet to hear that the demon thought the world of him. "We were both grossly misunderstood and underestimated by our respective offices. It won't happen again. We'll put a stop to this, and see if they even think about taking our world from us."

There was little doubt they'd try again, either side capable of being sneaky when need be, but Crowley smiled at him. Pride could look so sweet on him. "If they ever learn to be smarter than they are arrogant, they'll leave well enough alone."

Aziraphale sighed, unable to help rolling his eyes, though for once Crowley wasn't the target of his ire. "One can only hope, but there's hardly a chance of that happening. In Heaven or in Hell." But for the time being, the force they were most concerned with getting to leave well enough alone was on their Earth, and needed to be vanquished immediately, lest their lives as they knew it and all of humanity suffer the consequences.

\----

Wirt clutched at his heart over his sweater, the edge of the curtain brushing his shoulder as he peered through the window. Dipper was back. Or Bipper, rather. He'd found him near the entrance to the gift shop after Aziraphale's call, just watching them with a too-wide smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Then, for a second, the smile flickered and yellow eyes burned red before he vanished. They couldn't find him anywhere around the Shack.

But now, nearly ten minutes later, he was back. Wirt's breath caught as he watched him stride towards the porch, no sign of stopping until he was right at the window. A wretched sort of amusement shone like oil and tar in his slitted eyes, dark and heavy and deadly. Wirt swallowed as their eyes met through the glass, Bipper's nose centimeters from making contact with the blessed building.

A soft crack chipped at the air. A thin, hairline fracture splintered in the window in the gift shop's door. Then another branched off of it, the glass protesting the occult forces bearing down on it.

Wirt's throat wouldn't work as he watched in horror, the cracks growing in size and number. "Mabel-" he finally croaked, drawing her and Greg back into the gift shop.

She gasped, raising her grappling hook and firing quickly. It wrapped around Wirt's waist and pulled him back just as the window shattered, glass spraying across the floor. It hurt her wrists to do it, the salve and bandages only doing so much to soothe when her attention - and Greg's - had been on the thin red line across Wirt's throat. It was more important to fix that, hide it, than it had been to treat the finger-shaped burns. In her opinion, anyway. Wirt felt otherwise.

"Get out of here, Bill!" she demanded, her grappling hook drawing back together as she reached for and held Wirt's trembling hand. 

His cackles didn't sound quite right coming out of her twin. They never had and it genuinely made tears want to well. Her brother would never do any of this. He'd be horrified if he was awake to see it. 

"Why don't you come out here and make me, Shooting Star?" 

She aimed her weapon at him. "Why don't you come in if you wanna hang out so bad?" 

He snarled and another window shattered, then another from upstairs. It was like the previous summer with Splinter Man, but amplified ten-fold. Wirt's possession had been one thing, but Bipper... Bipper was something else, barely even Bipper honestly. There was no sign of her brother anywhere. She hated it. 

"Okay, let's just... keep away from the windows."

"Yeah," Wirt agreed weakly, squeezing Mabel's hand while the other clutched a shovel from the fireplace. He wasn't sure if he could bring himself to actually use it if push came to shove, but he'd promised Dipper he wouldn't let him hurt them. If he couldn't do anything else for him right now, he could at least do that. "Greg, stay close."

"When are Aziraphale and Crowley gonna get here?" he asked, squeezing between Mabel and Wirt, still wearing the sunglasses even though it was night. Or early morning depending on how one looked at it. Either way, it was still too dark for sunglasses. 

Mabel released Wirt to ruffle Greg's hair. "I-" 

"I wouldn't worry about them. The angel's done for," Bill called from an entirely different window. 

Dread settled, hard and icy in the pit of Wirt's stomach. There was something too satisfied in his tone, a finality of sorts. He placed his freed hand on Greg's shoulder, tugging him so he was practically plastered to his side.

"What does he mean? We just talked to him." Greg swiveled around as much as he could, trying to pinpoint where Bipper's voice was coming from. 

Mabel's brow furrowed. "It doesn't matter what he means, baby. We can't trust him."

"Right, yeah." Wirt squeezed Greg's shoulder, his attempt to reassure him pathetic when his grip was clammy and trembling. "Obviously he's just trying to mess with us."

"Yeah." Mabel felt pressure seeping in through the broken windows, like physical hands pushing against her shoulders. She squared them, lifting her chin. "Let's go upstairs. I think I have an idea."

"Aye aye, General." Greg saluted her, his own weapon at the ready, the grappling hook Mabel had given him finally entrusted to him. "Let's go."

"Wirt? You too, sweetie. I'll need your help."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I'm coming." Bill's comment on the angel was still distracting him. He couldn't really take their help out of commission, could he? "We should probably stick together anyway."

"Absolutely." Though she wished she could take a moment alone with him to offer reassurance that wouldn't give Greg pause. She tried anyway, at least something small. "They're okay, Wirt, and they'll be able to wake Dipper up. That's what he said in his head, right? A miracle will wake him up."

Wirt nodded. "Yeah, I know, I just… I don't know. I'd feel better if there was something more we could do. Or a plan B in case… in case something _does_ go wrong."

"Well... What if Greg and I went into Dipper's mind with you? If we all work together, we'd be able to find his consciousness. Maybe his sum thingy was wrong and it won't take a whole miracle. It'll just take some effort."

Wirt pursed his lips, hesitantly shaking his head. "I don't think it works that way…"

"Come on, Wirt. Where's your fighting spirit?" Greg piped up. "You can do anything if you set your mind to it, remember?" 

Not in this case. Not when untested sleeping pills were keeping him under. "I don't think we really have a choice here, Greg. We just have to keep buying time… What was your other idea, Mabel?" 

Her other idea was reckless, wild, and very Mabel. It was also very summer, three boxes packed to the gills with fireworks hauled down and huddled in the living room by the back table. There weren't any windows except the tiny one by the door that had already been blown out. Mabel had simply covered the diamond-shaped opening with a tiny curtain. 

She patted the first box as she opened it, face alight with glee as she took in the most-assuredly illegal assortment. Grunkle Stan tried to outdo himself every year and it looked as if Grunkle Ford had lended a hand with this particular display. The boxes were actually organized for once and labeled properly. 

Meaning each box had a different number of skull and crossbones images, but that was to be expected. 

"If he wants to keep Dipper, we can make him work for it."

Wirt swallowed as he opened one of the boxes. "I don't know about this, Mabel. People get their hands blown off from this kind of thing, don't they?" 

Greg, on the other hand, was one hundred percent on board with the plan. "Let's shoot a rocket at him!" he declared, picking one of the larger bottle rockets to hoist over his shoulder. 

"Don't worry, sweetie. I've been in charge of fireworks since I was twelve. We'll be fine." Mabel ruffled Greg's hair fondly, trusting him since they didn't have any matches yet. "And so will Dipper."

The sound of a car rolling up over the gravely dirt crunched outside, headlights beaming in through the curtain. The three of them looked at each other, then jumped collectively as they heard glass cracking outside, footsteps purposefully storming over the shattered shards littering the ground outside. Crowley and Aziraphale were here, and Bipper knew. 

A car door slammed, echoing angrily, then hard thumps up the steps preceded the door slamming open, banging into the wall. They jumped, brandishing their weapons with startled shouts. Crowley glared at them - well, they felt like he was glaring at them from the set of his eyebrows, but couldn't actually see his eyes to tell - and he slammed the door shut behind him with a wince.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered to the air, "could've made that a little weaker, eh?" Then he scanned the trio, brows lifting. "Those grappling hooks?" 

Mabel nodded. "Absolutely. We're only trusting Wirt with a fireplace shovel."

"Right. Having fun?" 

"Not really," Greg answered with a shrug while Wirt raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Where's Aziraphale?" Wirt asked, looking behind the demon, eyes widening. "Bill said… but we just talked to him-" 

Snake-like noises interrupted him, Crowley waving a hand dismissively. "Long story. We don't have time. Listen, Cipher's going to get bored with you lot soon enough so we need to grab his attention for a bit. _Really_ get it unless you're enjoying being trapped in here."

"Well, we've got fireworks. We were gonna shoot 'em at him if he tried anything funny." Greg showed him the bottle rocket he'd dropped in favor of his grappling hook. "What if we shot him before he tried anything? Would that work?" 

"Greg, we can't actually _shoot_ him with the fireworks," Wirt sputtered.

"Why not? We won't _actually_ hit him."

"And that was the plan, Wirt." Mabel propped her grappling hook against her shoulder, confident that the angel was just fine. Crowley would be panicking otherwise, not grinning like a Cheshire cat. "We've got three boxes of fireworks. Do you think that's enough?" 

"Oh, I think that should work just fine." He angled his head towards Wirt, amusement in the quirk of his lips. "Scared one, Cipher needs the body. You won't be _able_ to hit him. But we can make a damn good show of it."

_Fireworks? Really, Crowley._..

Visible to only Crowley's eyes, the faint image of Aziraphale warped and wobbled as he looked about, brow creased in concern as he sought out his surroundings. In his ethereal state, he could make out the strong, familiar aura of the demon, hovering close to it as he squinted at the vaguely human shapes weaving in and out of focus in his immediate vicinity. He couldn't tell which was which, not through the haze of looking in from another plane.

Crowley somehow looked even more pleased. "Their idea," he murmured. "Why stifle their creativity?" 

_They're children!_

Greg exchanged a confused glance with his brother and Mabel. "Who's he talking to?" he whispered loudly. Wirt shrugged, still vaguely offended at being called the 'scared one.'

Mabel smiled. "Aziraphale," she assured him. 

That grabbed Crowley's attention. "Hang on, are you _actually_ paying attention to me?" He bobbed a bit, weaving in place like a confused snake should when they affirmed it. "Well. That's new. Anyway. Boxes. Let's get this started." He lifted a hand, but the energy his snap pulled was weak. The boxes barely budged an inch. "On the porch," he decided, barely sparing a glance at the responsible party. Seeing Aziraphale like this was more disconcerting sober than it had been drunk the year prior. "Gives us a better visual on Cipher."

Mabel bit her lip, much like her twin with her rare nerves surfacing. "Is this part of a plan you and Aziraphale have to save my brother?" 

"Yes. Now let's not mention my angel again. Better Cipher thinks he got away with it."

"Got away with what?" Greg asked, ever curious for the details. 

Wirt hefted up one of the boxes, softening as he took in how much of a struggle it was for Crowley to stay inside, the blessing clearly affecting him. "He said he was done for. He must've tried something and didn't bother to stick around for the results." Bill's hubris would hopefully be his downfall. "Okay, the porch. Come on."

"That sounds like Bill." Mabel smiled, relieved to have the angel and the demon back, and hefted a second box. "Are you okay, Crowley? Bill won't come in here so I thought..."

"What, that I wouldn't? I'm made better than that bugger." But it did take effort he didn't want to admit was expended to cross the entire living room and gather up the third box. It was as if his entire body was pulsing in the way a migraine would, the aches tumbling over one another to see which could stab him sharpest. Of course his angel hadn't pulled any punches in his protection. "Hurry up, now. Even you, small one. Someone'll have to keep an eye on you."

_Crowley, you need to get out of the building. Where's the door?_ Aziraphale tried to find the fringes of his blessing, gauging just where the boundary was.

Greg pushed a box across the floor, right through Aziraphale's form, and the angel blinked and shuddered, also not quite sure what had happened. "Don't worry, Crowley! Three boxes are no match for me."

_Oh, I think that was Gregory… I do hope he doesn't lose a hand in all of this. Or worse._

Crowley sighed. It was less fun when Aziraphale was actively fretting, even when he couldn't look at him properly. "I'll make sure he doesn't, angel. Same for the other two. Wouldn't be as satisfying a victory otherwise."

_You must get out of the house first, Crowley. Get a wiggle on now, there's a dear._

Wirt helped Greg with his box, ignoring the figure standing in his periphery, just at the edge of the property. A chill raced down his spine as he felt the menacing gaze fixated on them. Placing himself between Bill's line of sight and Greg, Wirt focused on the task of setting up the fireworks. His hands fought not to shake, throat tight as Mabel joined him with a box and a pack of matches. They were really doing this. This might be their only shot.

"It'll be okay, Wirt. We've got-" She gasped when a firework lit in her hold. 

Crowley leaned over, a little queasy yet on the porch but not even half as bad as he'd been in the home proper, and pinched the lit fuse between his fingers. "Reassurances later," he instructed, a snap finishing the setup for them. Cipher's presence was almost oppressive, but he let his own demonic energy crackle menacingly in response. There was a delighted edge to him that was infuriating, even though Crowley knew his angel was just fine. The fact that he'd tried, that he'd come so close, made him growl, "Fire when ready."

Greg waved one of the fireworks, wordlessly asking Mabel to light it before Wirt took it from him and tugged him back a few steps from one that was already set up on the first step. It was angled towards Bill, the demon in Dipper's body hardly threatened by it as the fuse was lit with the strike of a match. With a pop, the explosive burst forward in a flash of color and sparks rained down on the grass, illuminating Bipper's sinister grin on one side of them, and the Bentley on the other.

At first glance, the Bentley appeared empty, both driver and passenger seats bare. Before vacating his corporation, however, Aziraphale had laid down in the backseat, hidden beneath miracled blankets in case Bill got too close to the car and the Hellfire contained within its trunk. The flickering image of Aziraphale on the porch followed Crowley closely, the human essences around him still weaving in and out of focus. 

He needed to latch onto the one that belonged to Dipper, and while he could tell which of the four of them held the oppressive, chaotic energy that belonged to Bill, he couldn't gauge where it was in relation to him. He couldn't get a fix on it, the only energy grounding him to a certain point was Crowley's. One moment Bill's aura was inches in front of him, then the next it felt as if he was miles away.

_Crowley, I can't see where he is._

He handed a box of matches to Mabel. Each was going to light at the first strike. "Should I get closer?" he wondered, watching confusion flicker only briefly before she nodded in understanding. The question wasn't for her. 

Aziraphale frowned at the hazy outline of the familiar aura. _I think that might be our best option. Can you? Safely?_

Crowley watched the possessed teenager zip around the streaks of fireworks. "Not with legs," he decided, shifting and staying low when his fellow demon wasn't paying attention to the porch itself. "Fire fassster," he instructed. "Ssstop when I tell you."

It was very odd to suddenly be looking at a snake, Mabel blinking twice at him before nodding. His voice somehow sounded like it was in the air and reverberating through her mind all at once, and it was very easy to understand just how he'd convinced Eve to take a bite. "Okay. Don't get hurt."

He tossed his head, all snake-like offense at the insinuation that he'd let himself get killed by _fireworks_. 

"Woah!" Greg gasped in quiet awe as he watched the snake slither across the porch. "That's so cool."

Aziraphale followed Crowley's weaving motion unsteadily, his essence occasionally brushing against the demon's to make sure he was still within reach. _Be careful, Crowley._

"M'fine. Hurry it up, kidsss."

"Right! Don't draw attention to him, corporal. He's on a mission," Mabel realized, beaming. "Wirt, help me. We need to start doing two at a time."

"Right." Wirt took a few matches from the box and struck one, the flame eating away at the match while he and Mabel timed the next two rockets. "Greg, we need to restock."

"Affirmative, Captain!" Greg rifled through one of the boxes, bringing the teens two more rockets each. "I'll be your artillery guy."

"Perfect," Mabel praised. 

Just as pleased, Crowley slipped off the porch and hid himself in the grass. He could feel the heat of the flaming rockets as they zipped above him as well as the cool ground beneath his long, long belly. He wasn't as big as he could get by any means, needing to blend into the ground as much as possible, and was glad for the darkness so his inky black scales wouldn't be seen by Cipher. As long as Aziraphale stayed close and as long as he could stop Cipher from moving, all would be well. He had to be confident in it just as he had to be confident that no stray rockets would come his way. 

The other three children faded out of Aziraphale's awareness, his focus on Cipher as he drifted. The closer Crowley got to him, the more the angel was able to gauge just where the other demon was. Where Crowley's energy held shimmering gold tendrils calling him close, weaving around him in serpentine coils, Cipher's was like black lighting, buzzing with an angry red that wasn't at all like the lovely shade Crowley liked to don. Aziraphale held back from making the jump for a moment, watching to see if the demon was distracted enough to not notice his attempt to slip past his defenses. He only had one shot at this. Once Cipher knew what they were trying to do, he'd shore up his defenses and be prepared for an attack.

_Crowley_ , Aziraphale tried whispering without a mouth. _Is he looking?_

"One sssecond." Everytime he was a snake, he remembered why he hated talking as one. It was not a mouth made for words. "Let you know," he promised, settling in the grass when he was comfortable with his nearness. He'd give his angel the best chance he could, so watched Cipher carefully. The taunts had started, threats and laughter.

And finally, he seemed to realize that he could simply kill the trio with a snap of his fingers. Idiot wasn't used to miracles anymore, and Crowley had no intention of letting the one he started to lift succeed. He snapped his tail out like a rope, circling Dipper's legs and pulling. 

He fell like something out of a comedy, arms spiraling and face planting right in the dirt. "Now," Crowley hissed. 

Aziraphale surged forward, praying that his aim was true. He met resistance in the form of flesh and bone, but it gave easily under his divine power. It was the human mind that was trickier. He wove his way into the crevices that he'd slipped through earlier, the permission still there, even in unconsciousness, and he'd nearly made it through before he brushed against Cipher.

Aziraphale jerked away from the demonic entity, alarm flaring in a bright burst from both sides. The demon hadn't anticipated another presence in the body he'd overtaken, so the angel had a one second advantage. He landed in the mindscape and hurried up to the door of the house. It shocked him when he reached for the handle, a zap of residual demonic energy, but Aziraphale glared at it and tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves before trying again. Pushing more of his grace into Dipper's mind, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.


	15. Chapter 15

The sousaphone in the corner was still playing, but it was bleating out of tune. The corkboards were still filing information, but it was all the same frantic message over and over: _System Overload._

The sum sat behind his monitors, one hand covering an eye and the other desperately flying over the keys of his keyboard. One of his three monitors was black, a second flickering with static, and the third sheened with red. If it was a factory, alarms would be blaring, but the bleating sousaphone seemed enough of one for the frantic, exhausted visage of the teenager. 

"Hi. I'm sorry. Can't look up, might die."

"Understood. Can't have that." Aziraphale strode over to him, gaze flitting between the screens before focusing on the boy himself. "I need to wake you up, Dipper, so we can force that fiend out of your body."

"I know. I've been _trying_. I can't die. I can't leave them. I-" His voice cracked a little, a red glow burning behind the hand over his eye. "I told Wirt to keep them safe so I'd have time but..." He trailed off, knowing he couldn't wallow. He was trying to keep his systems from shutting down. His body was in shock from the powerful souls inside, and it was likely a combination of one angel and one snake demon's insistence that kept him alive at all. "I can get you close, I think, to the conscious half? Near death makes that side stand out to me. If that's what you need or- or if you need a way to access my systems, that's... That's my area."

"Whatever you can manage safely, dear boy. Keeping yourself as safe as you can is the priority. If you point me in the right direction, I can find your consciousness."

It would be the safest option. Bill had already latched onto so much, something clinging to his essence and it was taking almost everything to keep that from taking over completely. Letting the angel do the same seemed... suicidal, at best. "I can get you close to the conscious." He shifted priorities, the flickering monitor screen showing more of his mind. "Can you, um, tell me if everyone's okay?" 

Aziraphale softened, then placed a hand on the sum's shoulder to send a bit of divine comfort to the boy. "They're all fine, all concerned with keeping you safe, but also mindful of themselves," he assured him kindly. "Crowley has them using fireworks to distract Cipher." 

He laughed, relieved to be able to, using his comfort like fuel. "Mabel and Greg must be having the time of their lives, then." Another quick sequence was punched into the computer that was his mind and body, and a button materialized on the desk. He reached out to press it, ready for the ride to be over. A door materialized on the wall. "Thank you, Aziraphale. For everything. You _and_ Crowley."

"No thanks are necessary, Dipper." Aziraphale looked at the state of the boy, the hand over his eye with white-knuckled pressure and the haggard appearance of someone just trying to stay in one piece. "We will win. We will stop him."

Aziraphale opened the door that manifested for him, a corridor stretching out before him. Taking a fortifying breath out of habit, he looked back at Dipper and nodded once. No more games.

"Take care of yourself," he told him. 

"Can do."

He couldn't hold the door open and do it, though, so it dissolved and Aziraphale was left in a nearly empty corridor. Faint doors lined it, none of them fully there. They were dreams, only vaguely remembered. 

Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat and straightened his shoulders. Right, find the consciousness, save the world. As long as Crowley and the children kept Bill distracted, he'd be in and out in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

A crack suddenly formed in the wall, a faint red light pulsating from it as it splintered from one simple line to dozens. Another quickly formed on the opposite wall, and a little rattling was all it took for the doors to crack open. Whispers of malice and fear trickled out, indecipherable but spilling tension. The next shudder seemed to be in response, a teenager's mind battling itself. Finally, a feather floated from the ceiling almost like a silent taunt. It struggled to be golden, but the blackness couldn't be entirely overrun as it swooped in the air, this way and that, seeming entirely random in its course. 

Until it was caught by a twelve-year-old Dipper, dressed as Wirt had seen him and as Bill was even now wearing outside while the fireworks display amped up and a demonic snake tried very hard to wound but not destroy. Both eyes were golden, but one was rimmed red and dripping blood from the corner. When his mouth opened, teeth as jagged as a shark's, his voice seemed to come from everywhere. He _was_ the hallway, it seemed, and fed from it too. "Hello, Principality. Come to play?" 

"I'm afraid not." Aziraphale steadied himself, shoulders back and head held high. Though he did not think himself a warrior, he had been trained as such and given the flaming sword for a reason. His purpose was to protect humanity, and this demon stood very much in the way of that. "The time for games is over, Cipher. I'll give you one last warning, and that is all. Leave this boy and his family alone, and stop your attempts at Armageddon, then I will have no reason to destroy you." He couldn't say the same for Crowley, however, who would still likely have plenty of reason to destroy Cipher, even once the world was safe.

"I'm not a _feather_ ," he hissed, flickering like television static. "I'm barely even Cipher anymore. Really appreciate you helping me keep hidden earlier, though. Your boyfriend came pretty close there."

"We underestimated you. Let me assure you it won't happen again." Aziraphale's gaze flicked over the boy's appearance. "What do you mean you're barely even Cipher anymore? What else could you possibly be?"

"The _kid_. I've had years to bleed into him and make a mark. He sealed me in here, after all, and I've got some pull now. I've even got an in with the sum if I need one." Though he was hiding now, everything in Dipper - including this demonic fragment - stretched so thin just trying to stay alive that it was hard to find his exact footing. "Helps that he's got enough worry to feed a thousand demons."

Aziraphale had never heard of this sort of thing happening. Possessions were one thing, but for a demon and human to blend into one another almost seamlessly? After having been welcomed into two human bodies now, the angel was very aware of the boundaries between his angelic grace and the human soul nestled close as they shared a physical form. He could hardly picture what it would take for them to bleed into one another. 

But this creature in front of him was still very much not Dipper Pines. It was a piece of the demon that had absorbed human characteristics. It nestled itself in his mind, but it wasn't him. Aziraphale could still feel the boy's soul fighting, even without his consciousness he could still love and fear and hope. The very nature of humanity was still something beyond this demon's grasp.

"You may have wormed your way into the body, but you've hardly infected the human soul. You're still very much Cipher and Cipher alone. Your demonic essence just may have been compromised." Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the cracks in the wall were soothed with golden light until they resealed. 

Bipper twitched and fizzled, the gold in both eyes beginning to seep away. Red dripped down the irises. "You're not in control here."

"I've possessed him, same as you have." 

Aziraphale felt a twinge of triumph at erasing the pyrite of his eyes that couldn't even hope to compare to the real thing, but at the same time, he could very well liken this situation to prodding a snake with a stick - a snake that wasn't the Serpent of Eden, that is. If Cipher felt cornered, as he already showed that he did with the Hellfire, then that was when he'd lash out. Aziraphale needed to tread with caution, wary of what the demon might do. 

"Are you saying mine doesn't hold the same weight yours does?" he asked conversationally, quietly feeling along the walls for the steady pulse of Dipper's consciousness.

"I know the boy better than you do. I know every nook and cranny of his Mindscape." The floor beneath them splintered, smoke drifting out of the depths. "And I can drive him to insanity before you'll ever be able to find him. Don't think I can't feel what you're doing. You're touching my nightmares, Principality."

"And you're touching _my_ charge, demon." Aziraphale glared at him, the smoke cooling into white curls as it rose. _Dream of whatever you like best_. 

It might have seemed a silly thing to offer humans throughout the many torments they endured, but it was one of their brightest qualities. Their dreams could do just as much good as the nightmares could do harm. Though he didn't know the nooks and crannies the way Cipher did, he did know how to spread comfort and warmth like a blanket, a layer of protection, and leave it to humans themselves to let the specifics rise to the surface. Something this dream demon ironically gave them in the first place.

Aziraphale continued to soothe the mind around him. "I'm only attempting to even the playing field, as it were."

"I'll do what I like with him. Like I always have." Bipper snarled, unaware of the faint blue flicker far behind him. It pulsated, just the outline of a pine tree symbol on a crisp white wall. 

Aziraphale noticed it, but didn't allow his expression to show any trace of recognition. "Except now you have to share. You aren't the only occult or ethereal being in here now. And after that little show with the Hellfire? If you think I'm going to make this easy for you, then you're underestimating me, too."

With a snap, Aziraphale popped out of Bipper's line of sight, only to pop back in behind him, right next to the pine tree symbol. A door manifested itself in the wall, a little over the top and shining with angelic grace just for that extra touch. It wouldn't hurt Dipper, but it wouldn't feel great for Cipher. 

He placed his hand on the handle and offered the demon a smile. "Well, can't say it was lovely chatting with you, so I won't. Until we meet again." Which would be all too soon, unfortunately.

Aziraphale stepped inside the door and locked it. It wouldn't keep him out forever, and a mental battle between the two of them wouldn't be in Dipper's best interest, but it would hold hopefully long enough for him to find the boy. He wasn't sure how he was able to signal him, but was thankful that somehow he'd managed it.

"Alright, Dipper. It's just you and me right now. Now where are you?" Aziraphale scanned his surroundings, recognizing the haziness of a dream's setting.

It was almost like a watercolor painting that had been stood up too soon, colors blending and bleeding into one another. The smoke the angel and demon had kicked up took shape as clouds in a night sky, twisting and curling into one another, struggling to keep the night serene or turn it into a thunderous storm. Trees shimmered, something about them not quite stable. A thin path cruised through and around them, twin bicycle tracks flattening grass and leaving patterns in the dirt.

A faint blue outline of a pine tree lit on the path, an arrow that briefly pulsed with a whispered, " _Something's wrong_." Another tree lit several feet ahead, " _Shouldn't sleep._ "

Aziraphale followed them, reaching out to lay a reassuring hand on one of the trees, but it wasn't quite solid enough for the touch to land. "Something is wrong," he confirmed gently, looking for the next illuminated pine tree to show him where to go, right alongside the bicycle tracks. "But I'm here to wake you up, Dipper. And then we can fix things. There's still time."

Pine tree symbols lit the path silently until the entire space flickered quick as a blink. " _He's here_." 

Red and gold dripped onto the tracks like liquid flame, the blue growing fainter but never quite going out. Fire, filmy but vibrant, lit the watercolor background, but it was close. Dipper was close. 

The clouds darkened. "Y'know, I don't think I like having some candyass angel coming in here to ruin my fun."

Aziraphale manifested himself an umbrella to protect against the red and gold dripping from the storm clouds. "I think you need to find other ways to have fun," he murmured, still focused on following Dipper's flickering beacons before they faded away. He gave them a bit of his own light, something to reignite them as the darkness closed in. "Have you tried looking into magic tricks?"

"I prefer actual tricks," he snapped, violent red lightning streaking across the sky. "But thanks for the advice. I'll make a note of it."

The path ended in a clearing. The bicycle tracks gone and blue pine trees encircled him, pulsing with a steady light, but going no further. Aziraphale turned around, to look back the way he came and saw the possessed boy blocking his path. Red lightning crackled at his feet as molten rain continued to fall around them, melting more of the watercolor world away.

He could feel Dipper's essence close still. The thrumming in the blurry pine trees reassured him of this, too. They'd been guiding him, pointing him in the right direction until now, where they came full circle, right back to… 

Right back to Cipher, in the boy's body. Aziraphale's eyebrows arched in consideration. The piece of him that had been hiding… Yes, of course. This was what he was meant to purify. If it had worked with the feather they'd thought was the piece earlier, then surely it was worth a try now.

"I've got a magic trick for you," Aziraphale told him, vanishing the umbrella so he could have both hands free. "A disappearing act."

The angel lunged forward, his fingers wrapped tight around Bipper's wrist. The demonic energy that lashed out at him singed his fingertips, but he tightened his grip and let his own holiness burn away the infernal parasite in Dipper. It wasn't all of Cipher, not by far. They still needed to force the whole of him out, but it was his anchor. It was what had spent the past four years of this boy's life burrowing inside his mind and biding its time.

The demon thrashed and snarled, trying in vain to tear himself out of Aziraphale's grasp. Aziraphale fought to hold him, lifting his free hand to press over Bipper's eyes. He held his ground and poured more of his power into disintegrating the nightmare. 

"No!" he bellowed and the voice carried right through Dipper's body and out of his mouth, Crowley acquiring limbs again and snapping to halt the fireworks. He was finally still enough to allow for it, one eye a bloody red and the other a familiar blue. But he was also starting to hum, divine light under his skin that threatened to rip him apart even while it promised salvation. 

And then it stopped and half of Dipper's body went limp as if asleep. Inside, Bill abandoned his station at the helm entirely to focus on getting the angel out before he could get to Dipper.

In the angel's grasp, Bipper cracked and splintered as the walls had. The molten rain stopped, the flames died, and Aziraphale was suddenly holding nothing. The memory was intangible without a demonic spirit wrapped around it, and he was just the silhouette of a child both about to make a mistake and one who regretted the one he'd made. He stepped back, hovering over the forest floor, and gratitude was felt more than heard before he dropped into a trap door that hadn't been there, and vanished into the memory he belonged in. 

The soft blue glow shattered into soft sparkles that shimmered over the broken bits of dream and repaired them, widened the clearing just enough to reveal two teenage boys on a picnic blanket. There was music somewhere beyond them, but it was a little distorted. 

The vision of Wirt stayed on the blanket, hand whisping like smoke when Dipper broke away from him, and immediately restoring itself while Dipper rose. He wasn't quite tangible himself, though he could see Aziraphale. 

"You're not part of the dream," he realized. Vaguely transparent, somewhere between solidly there and discorporated, he walked closer. "Listen, I was talking to Wirt and then suddenly everything's hazy. I don't know what I did to let him in, but- I've been trying to wake up. Have I hurt anyone?" 

"Nothing irreparable," Aziraphale assured him, shaking out his wrists as he met the boy halfway. "Your family is strong, they know how to take care of themselves. Right now our concern is waking you up so you can force Cipher out of your body, and we don't have long."

He looked around the dream, things appearing peaceful for now, but undercurrents of demonic energy still thrummed somewhere beneath it all. The angel couldn't pinpoint where Bill Cipher was, but he did have a point about knowing the boy's body better than he did, as much as Aziraphale loathed to admit he was right about anything. No, it wouldn't take long at all.

"You're under the influence of an experimental narcotic, so in normal circumstances we'd be at the mercy of waiting it out." But being possessed by an angel wasn't normal at all now, was it? "I'm going to clear it from your system, but it may be a bit of a shock, so er… hold onto something?" 

Dipper looked around, smiling to himself. Even to him, nothing was tangible. "In a metaphorical sense, sure."

"Yes, right then." Aziraphale concentrated, taking hold of as much of Dipper's body as he could and, just like sobering up after one - or six - too many bottles of wine, ushered the foreign substance out of the bloodstream and the brain, reforming it into a little pill that dropped back into the bottle it had been plucked from. "Ah, there we go. That's better."

"In some ways, yeah." He already knew he had a headache, but the dreamworld was taking more of a solid form already and so was Dipper. He could handle Bill like this. "Definitely in the I'm-gonna-kick-Bill-out way."

"Crowley has the vessel that we're going to try to force him into outside. So once you've kicked him out, we should be able to destroy him. Once and for all," Aziraphale explained quickly, looking over his shoulder for any sign of the demon's presence.

"Good. Cool." Oh, it was worse than a headache. As he became more aware of himself, Dipper could feel his entire body shaking with an effort to... to do something. Stay together, maybe, considering that the headache was moving rapidly into migraine territory and he was also probably going to puke. "Is it safe to have both of you in here because, _wow_ , does this not feel safe."

A hand wrapped around his wrist, Bill's eye glowing gold and ringed red. "It's not!" he said cheerfully, glancing back as a ravine split between them and Aziraphale. It was instantly deep, instantly wide. "Angel Cake, so nice of you to drop by. I see you survived. That's just fantastic, so great."

"Survived what?" 

"Oh, right, right. You've been asleep. Let's fix that." Bill flicked his forehead, making him wince from the unwanted contact as much as from the flood of memories. Everything Bill had done in his body. 

"Mabel," he breathed, her screams ringing in his ears. And Wirt. Oh, no, he'd nearly cut Wirt's throat. Stabbing Crowley, then shooting a burst of deadly Hellfire at a freaking _angel_. He could feel the heat of the burning town. "Oh my god..."

"That's it. And we're not finished yet, Pine Tree."

"One of us is." He gritted his teeth and the chasm closed. It made him way dizzier than it should've, his stomach churning not helping. But he was still ready to fight. "Because you're in _my_ head and I know how to handle you."

Aziraphale was at his side in an instant, a snap of divine energy shocking Bill's hand like static electricity. He pulled Dipper free of him, guarding him from the demon when he clawed at the air. Staying between the boy and Cipher, Aziraphale attempted to force the demon out himself, to grab him and drag him out by force, if need be. He quickly realized just how bad an idea that was. Aziraphale and Cipher's hands came into contact, just barely grazing one another, and Dipper's body recoiled violently. His entire mindscape shuddered as if enduring an earthquake. Aziraphale could even feel the aftershocks trembling through him from the simple touch, his divine energy crackling like iridescent lightning while Cipher's did the same.

Their eyes met, they could both feel the body they inhabited weaken under the strain of two strong, opposing forces. Aziraphale's own knees felt weak as he watched Cipher flicker in and out of focus, knowing he looked much the same and at risk of discorporation. Which would mean the death of Dipper.

The angel forced Dipper back, to put some distance between them and the demon. Aziraphale allowed him to brace himself against him as he battled the pounding in his head and the nausea roiling inside him. Manifesting his wings, he cocooned Dipper within the white feathers to give him a moment to collect himself after exerting such an effort. With a quiet blessing, he willed the body not to feel any pain, but with Cipher ready to attack again, Aziraphale knew it wouldn't hold. It could hopefully buy Dipper just enough time to shore up his defenses a little.

"That's it, Dipper. It's your body. Your mind. He doesn't have any claim on it anymore." Aziraphale surrounded him with a soothing presence while his gaze followed Cipher.

"Right. Yeah." Dipper's thoughts raced, desperate to put all the pieces together. He didn't know any of the specifics involving being possessed by a demon _and_ an angel, but he knew he could trust that Bill would happily tell him an awful truth. Particularly when his body was reacting so violently against it. Safe behind wings - and, _wow_ , Aziraphale seriously did have wings - a distant part of him could hear the world outside. 

Crowley's exasperated, "I _said_ stay back," was first. 

And Wirt. His stubborn boyfriend was very much not staying back. He could feel gentle fingers carding through his hair and he could hear the frantic undertones beneath soothing words and encouragement. Greg and Mabel were there too, he knew, but he focused on Wirt as he made himself settle. He wasn't going to die. They had a future together. 

"I think you should go. Tell Crowley to get ready for whatever he's gonna do. I can get Bill out, but I can't handle both of you."

Though he didn't want to leave him alone, Aziraphale knew there was no other option. With Cipher exerting his full strength now, Dipper's body would crumble under the strain the longer they both stayed. He couldn't force him out, or even touch him for that matter, so there really was nothing more he could do. Not from within.

Aziraphale made sure Dipper was steady as he pulled his wings back and let him stand on his own. "Alright. Stay strong, dear boy. I believe in you. We all do," he assured him, then severed his connection to the human body.

It was like snapping a taut line of wire, Dipper's body jerking in Wirt and Mabel's hold as one entity vacated it. Though they couldn't see him, Aziraphale stumbled back into the disorienting plane between the physical world and not. He could vaguely make out the little cluster of humans, but it was Crowley's grounding essence that gave him something of a compass, his very own true north. He gravitated to his side, relieved that when their essences touched it didn't shake the world at its core or threaten any catastrophic implosions.

"What was that?" Wirt asked, his voice a bit faint and warbled to the angel, but perfectly clear to everyone else.

"Aziraphale," Crowley replied, taking a moment to find the discorporation. "Woke the boy up?" 

_Yes. He's facing off against Cipher now._ Aziraphale rested against Crowley for a moment, finding his bearings as the sensation of a snake coiled around him questioningly. He gave it as loving of a pat as he could manage in this state. _It was decided it'd be too much for him to try containing an angel inside him as well._

"Right." Hopefully that meant the trio of humans wasn't wrong in their faith of the boy, then. "Think you can find your corporation?" 

_I think so. I believe that's your car, somewhere over there._ Aziraphale gestured vaguely in the general direction of the Bentley, able to catch traces of himself and Crowley from the car. _I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail._

"Alright, angel. If you need me, I'll be here."

"So he did wake Dipper up?" Mabel asked. "So he can get Bill out?" 

"Yes, so you should probably let him go. It could get violent."

Wirt looked down at Dipper's face, smoothing his bangs down over his forehead. He remembered how hard it had been to twist and pull the demon out of his body, like uprooting a nasty weed clinging for all it was worth. He had physically and mentally rejected Bill's presence in his body and it had taken a lot out of him. Though he didn't want to let go of him, it did make sense that things would get violent. Wirt eased him down, laying him against the grass.

"It'll be okay, Dipper," he murmured. "I'm still here."

"He'll be fine," Mabel reassured him. "He's done it before. He'll be _fine_."

"He's the admiral, of course he'll be fine," Greg agreed, though uncertainty flickered across his face, clear even with the sunglasses on, as he tugged on Wirt's sleeve. "But maybe Aziraphale should stay out of his corporate- corporation thingy in case Bill doesn't come out right away."

It was a little too late for that though, none of them able to see any trace of the angel at all save for the demon with them. He'd already gone off in search of his own vessel, so the suggestion was a fruitless one. Wirt pulled Greg back from Dipper's body, in case anything happened, all eyes fixed on it warily.

And it was better that Aziraphale refrained from another appearance in the boy's mind, in Crowley's opinion. He'd seen the stressors beyond human vision. He'd felt the boy straining at the edges, one mistake away from Death's waiting wings. He'd even glimpsed the Horseperson at the edges of the forest, peeking in from the shadows. He may have pretended to be above it all, but he liked his drama. The fact that he was still there if Crowley bothered to look only meant they were still toeing the line. 

"You two listen to the girl. If you expect the worst, it's what you'll get."

Though he immediately stepped in front of the trio when Dipper's body moved, prepared to shield them when he tried to stand and only collapsed onto his hands and knees. His breaths were ragged and two-toned, one eye a glittering gold and the other - so tired yet so very determined - brown. It was every inch the fight, his body trying very hard to tear itself into two halves. Two equal ones, unfortunately. Crowley could see the cracks. 

"C'mon, Dipper! Give 'im the ol' kickeroo!" Greg shouted, shoving his fear aside in favor of moral support. Crowley was right, they needed the right attitude and Dipper needed them to believe it was possible. "You can do anything if you set your mind to it!"

"That's a rock fact," Wirt breathed, his heart wrenching as he watched sweat bead down Dipper's temple from his exertion, the bags under his eyes growing darker as his pallor turned paler. "I love you," he choked out. "I love you so much. You're going to get through this. We've- we've got a picnic to go on. I know you wouldn't miss that. Not for anything. Definitely not because of _Bill_."

"I should think not. He's certainly not worth missing a picnic."

Mabel, Wirt, and Greg turned to see Aziraphale approaching them, perfectly in one physical piece, sans one bowtie. In his hand he held a plastic water bottle, swirling the contents like he'd aerate a glass of wine. Wiggling the fingers of his free hand, he swept them over the mister and the two demons present could feel the tell-tale tingling of a miracle.

"Cipher, that's enough." Aziraphale's tone hardened as he glared at the writhing body on the ground. "You're destroying him. You'll have to leave his body regardless, why not do it peacefully?"

Bill growled, but it sounded wrong. Like even his vocal cords were fighting. "If you think any of this is about _peace_ -" His body collapsed, Dipper dragging Bill further into the Mindscape to cut him off. 

Definitely a strong kid, Crowley mused, going up against a demon as he was. He'd planned to sidle up to Aziraphale and ask if he could see the cracks as he could, but the water mister made him think better of it. He knew the damn things leaked and there were some chances even his reckless self wasn't keen on taking. 

So he kept his focus on Dipper and truly _focused_. The demonic energy radiating off the boy was dimming - no, _narrowing_. Interesting. The human energy seemed to be doing the same thing and that seemed... dangerous. Very dangerous, actually, as he could suddenly feel Cipher's panic lash out like a whip. Killing himself from the inside so the angel wouldn't have to. What a clever, _stupid_ idea. 

Crowley didn't hear Mabel's gasp of, "Wait, what are you doing?" He was on his knees, the heel of his palm digging into Dipper's forehead, and his mind was gone before she'd even registered he'd moved. Because while the boy couldn't handle an entire angel again, what was a fragment of a second demon? And this time, there were no clever tricks to distract him from his goal. 

Mabel looked to the angel. "What's he doing?" 

"He's…" Aziraphale's gaze narrowed, trying to figure out the answer to that very question. 

He could see the same cracks Crowley did, the way the boy's life force was diminishing. He had so much fight in him, but it wasn't enough. While he could push and shove at the unwanted entity, Cipher was still very much capable of sinking his claws in and grounding himself in the human body. Dipper needed more leverage. Perhaps Crowley had sensed the same thing.

"I think he's trying to find Cipher. Like before." He nodded to Wirt, waiting for the boy to understand and remember from their earlier dalliance through the mindscape. "Just a fragment of him, but still…" Where he couldn't get a grasp on Bill due to their conflicting natures, Crowley still had a chance.

Wirt glanced between the angel and his boyfriend, wanting to be by Dipper's side and held back only by the knowledge that it would do more harm than good at this point. Not only that, but… "You weren't really going to use that, were you?" Wirt flicked his gaze up to meet Aziraphale's, then pointed at the spray bottle when he looked confused.

"What? Oh! This?" Aziraphale shook the bottle. "It wouldn't have done anything. Didn't bless it, just wanted them to think I had," he clarified. "I would only _actually_ bless it if we needed a very last uh… last ditch effort, I suppose you could say? Might have backfired in this case." 

"If it works out for us, I won't call it a backfire," Mabel offered, gaze steady on her twin and prayers quietly hopeful.

She was more hopeful than said twin, his gasp audible to those in and out of the Mindscape as fresh energy crackled on the front porch of what looked like an ever-changing amalgamation of the places he called home. His plan had been to go inside. He didn't know why it felt like a bad idea exactly, but it had terrified Bill enough that he'd decided to go for it. Like Wirt had tried to brave the Unknown again. 

A little nudge got him off the porch steps and he pushed Bill off of himself, hard enough to finally make him let go. It was like a snake headbutting him and, well, maybe that was exactly right. "Crowley?" 

For a moment, Bill looked almost as nervous about the snake's energy as he had about Dipper mounting the porch steps. It was enough to satisfy Dipper. "What's wrong, Bill? You look more scared of Crowley than you did Aziraphale."

"Oh, shut up, Pine Tree. You can act like you know everything to everyone else, but-"

"I mean, I'd seriously be more scared of Aziraphale. I saw," he'd _felt_ , "what he did to that fragment you left behind. Oh, man, it feels way better in here with just that gone." The scenery shifted around them a dozen times, a dozen different ways, and it was all designed to disorient him. Dipper just focused on the snake coiled across his shoulders, grounding him. More soothing than a demon probably should be, but that's what Dipper took from the sensation. He couldn't see Crowley, but was pretty sure Bill could. 

"I told you to _shut up_." His eye lost all semblance of gold as he emphasized the last two words, red and angry and-

"Wait, are your eyes gold because _his_ are? _Seriously_? Is that why you're not scared of Aziraphale, too? You're just jealous of him?" 

"Y'know, Pine Tree, you really like to make things up for someone who's only skill is reading what other people write. If you think-" He broke off, staring at Dipper's shoulders. The weight was gone from them, but Dipper didn't know exactly where the snake had gone until he saw a shadow encircle both of Bill's wrists and suddenly pull taut. 

It made Dipper wince, expecting the same sensation he'd gotten when Aziraphale had tried to grab him. But it never came. Crowley's presence was strong, but it wasn't _whole_. And maybe it had something to do with them both being demons. He didn't know and he really didn't care. 

The scene shifted again and they were back by the house only because Dipper recognized it as the edge. It was too similar to the way they'd once entered Grunkle Stan's mind. If this was the entrance, it was also the exit. 

"Get _out_ , Bill."

"Never."

"Get out!" Dipper gathered every bit of mental power he had left to push against him and Crowley pulled. For a moment, he could see the snake - all shadow but for little golden lines that looked more like cracks. 

He didn't have a chance to ask what they were, only knowing he had to push harder. He didn't know where the extra strength came from, but the angel outside did. 

Crowley's entire corporation was trembling like a rope pulled too taut and plucked, taking on some of Dipper's cracks to give the boy a better chance. He healed the damaged bits of his essence and pushed them back in. It was exhausting and almost more than he could handle, really, but it was worth it when Dipper had enough strength back that all of him could get rid of Cipher. All of him plus a little bit of extra. 

Crowley yanked one last time and careened back fully into his body so hard, it was a wonder he didn't tumble to the side. But he didn't have a chance. The triangle would stop tumbling through the air soon enough, so he snatched Dipper's wrist and a burn went straight through the sleeve of the false preacher garb and a brand seared into his skin. He didn't have the energy to make it not hurt, but he might not have anyway. It woke the boy up. 

He sat up like a bolt, reaching for his wrist with a sharp hiss of pain, but stopped and stared into dark lenses. They'd splintered at some point, so he saw a dozen little reflections of himself. But it was himself. "Holy crap," he wheezed. 

"Sums it up," Crowley agreed, only one being able to hear that his flippant tone wasn't as light as it normally would've been. His hand lifted, leaving behind Cipher's name, and the triangular demon above them threw a small fit. The fireworks that hadn't been set off exploded on the porch, catching it and the side of the building on fire. 

But it was only regular fire, and a fire that Aziraphale could extinguish with a quick miracle. Not even a curl of smoke remained, though the porch did look a bit singed still. Blackened at the edges.

"A temper tantrum? Really?" he huffed at Bill, shaking his head as he moved to Crowley's side to offer his hand and another miracle to take the pain from the brand on Dipper's wrist. "Hello, Dipper. Good to see you."

"Hi, yeah." His legs didn't want to cooperate right away, but his gaze flitted past them to find his family. His gaze lingered on the bandages so Mabel huffed at him.

"I swear if the first thing you say to any of us is 'I'm sorry,' I'll steal every shirt you own _except_ our matching Christmas sweaters."

He had to laugh, gaze shifting between the three of them. "I'm okay," he ended up saying instead, smile softening when he held Wirt's gaze. "I'm okay."

It honestly felt like his heart was completely rebooting as Wirt released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding from the moment Crowley stepped in. The sound of Dipper's laughter had never sounded so sweet. Some part of him hadn't been sure he'd ever hear it again.

"Dipper…" Wirt started for him, then glanced at the angel to make sure it was okay for them to be close once again. At the affirmative nod, he crossed the gap and banded his arms around Dipper, pressing him close to his chest. "You're okay," he echoed breathlessly.

But they weren't in the clear yet, as much as he wanted to be. Bill was still hovering above them, left without a vessel once again, while Crowley still struggled to recover. Aziraphale placed his hand on his shoulder, quietly assessing the damage. The cracks were gone, but there was a trembling to his essence that he had only seen once, at an airbase in Tadfield when he'd stretched himself so very thin.

"Dearest?" he murmured, only enough for him to hear as he kept Cipher in his line of sight.

"M'fine, angel." He blinked, the cracks in his dark lenses mending. "Let's just finish the bastard. If I can yank him out of a body, I can toss him into one."

"Yes, but you had help with that." Aziraphale flicked his gaze to the two teenagers. 

Crowley slanted him a _look_ and it was a shame that he couldn't actually see his eyes for the full effect of it. "Funny, that's why I thought you were here."

Aziraphale's eyes snapped back to him, chest puffing up a bit in indignation. "I was about to ask what I could do to support you. But if you're going to be like _that_ …" He trailed off, the threat nonexistent, really. "What can I do? I can't make contact with him like this, not the way you can."

"Did you touch him in the boy's mind at all?"

"Yes, and the result was nearly catastrophic. It felt like we would've _both_ discorporated and killed him in the process if I did anything more than brush against him." Aziraphale frowned up at the triangle. "The piece of him he'd left behind was one thing, but that was only a fraction of his full powers."

"Alright, alright. The _point_ is that you did touch him. Must mean you can do it out here too. He's more tangible than he should be. Might be all the dimension hopping or it's just being discorporated as long as he has. Just _look_ at him compared to how you were."

Aziraphale glanced between the two demons, thinking it through. "Well, I suppose I wouldn't be touching him with my raw, ethereal nature like I did before. Perhaps my body will act as a sort of buffer."

"Bleh," he replied, not at all liking how that had been phrased. Raw, ethereal nature. Right. It was at least settled, in his opinion, so he turned his attention to the humans. "Oi, you lot. Smart one's back, so go fetch the holy water." Because Aziraphale wouldn't be standing so close to him with dripping holy water.

"Wait, you don't have it?" Dipper asked.

Mabel shook her head. "Couldn't find it."

"Oh, man, Grunkle Ford, _seriously_? There's like, at least three places it could be if he moved the case."

"Can't Aziraphale just actually make the water in the spray bottle holy this time?" Greg asked. "Instead of us having to run around like crazy chickens looking for it?"

"Oh." Aziraphale lifted the plant mister, then set about unscrewing the top. "Yes, I suppose I could. Excellent idea, Gregory."

"I know." Greg adjusted his sunglasses, feeling very cool.

The nozzle was barely free of the bottle's lip when the plastic shattered in his hands. Water sprayed all over the grass and drenched Aziraphale's sleeve as he recoiled from the sudden pop of energy. He gasped in shock, the tiny plastic shards lost among the grass and all the water with it.

"Well. There goes that idea." Crowley reached out and adjusted Aziraphale's sleeve for him, the water steaming away. "Go be crazy chickens."

"If it's not in the first three places, we'll let you know," Dipper promised, taking Wirt's hand. "Come on. I'll tell you where to look; we'll split up."

"Into groups of two, maybe."

"Mabel-"

"We'll meet up at the third place," she continued, the twins locking eyes with equal stubbornness. 

Despite that, Dipper caved first and quickly. They didn't have time to argue and his family had just dealt with him being possessed and maybe kinda almost dying. "Okay. Let's go."

"Thank you for being agreeable," Wirt exhaled as he squeezed Dipper's hand, definitely on board with Mabel in this respect. "Greg, stay with the general."

"Aye aye, Captain Wirt!" 

"So you stay with Wirt, Dippindots."

"I will." He laced their fingers, leading the way to the Shack. "Be careful on the porch," he reminded them, though it didn't so much as creak under their feet despite the scorch marks. 

"Wirt and I'll head down to Grunkle Ford's space. Behind the third bear poster in the gallery is a false wall. You guys check there."

"Where's the third place?" Greg asked. "Our rendezvous!" 

"We'll meet outside Grunkle Stan's room. So let's hope it's in one of the first two places."

Wirt and Dipper's hands stayed connected as they entered the gift shop, heading for the vending machine. Wirt's thumb gently stroked over his boyfriend's pulsepoint while Dipper punched in the code to get them down into the basement. His heartbeat was still thready, his face still pale except for where it darkened around his eyes. To be fair, Wirt felt like he probably didn't look much better, but he also wasn't the one who'd been harboring a demon - actually, an angel and _two_ demons - inside him. One demon was enough of a strain, he knew that much.

Lacing their fingers together, Wirt brought the back of Dipper's hand to his lips as they rode the elevator down. They didn't have much time to wrap around one another, but he'd take whatever seconds they could snatch to remind Dipper that he wasn't alone in this. That this wasn't some nightmare Bill concocted and trapped him in while he ran rampant in his own skin.

"I love you," he told him, just before the doors opened to Ford's lab. "So, Mabel and I checked in here, but we didn't go in that room." He pointed to the open workspace on the other side of the glass window, where a portal to different dimensions once stood. "We didn't really know how much time we had, and we couldn't see where Bill was from down here."

Dipper nodded, giving his hand a soft squeeze. "I am sorry, y'know. I still don't know when he dipped in or even how exactly. Of course he gave me the stunts he pulled, but not anything solid."

"I thought Mabel said not to say 'I'm sorry.'" Wirt glanced at him. "It wasn't your fault."

"She just said I couldn't say it first. This isn't first." His gaze briefly fell to the bandage at his throat. "And you know how hard it is not to blame yourself."

Wirt swallowed reflexively at the attention, his fingers brushing over the bandage as it strained. "Yeah, I do. And you know how important it is to keep reminding you not to despite that." He made sure to hold Dipper's gaze, hoping to convey how much he meant it. "It wasn't your fault, Dipper. Not any of it."

"Tell me tomorrow. It might be easier to believe." At least no one had broken bones this time and Greg had still gotten away without any injuries to speak of. Dipper pulled him into the workspace, sighing at the destruction of the lab. "The annoying thing about being asleep is that I don't completely know what his plan was. I had nightmares, but I don't know if that was him feeding me what he actually _planned_ to do or if it was just a red herring."

"I feel like Bill likes bragging enough that some of the things he says _are_ true just because he wants to rub it in your face. What do you _think_ his plan was?" Wirt asked, brow furrowing as he let go of Dipper's hand, if only so he could move some things out of the way to search for the holy water. 

"I think he wanted to put the portal back down here. Sort of like what he did last time, but it ripped a hole in the ground before it opened another dimension. So, y'know, the Apocalypse would happen and then he and his dimensional monsters get what was left."

"That… sounds very likely. Do you-? Do you think he had a plan B? Or is that not cocky enough for him?"

"I honestly don't know. If Aziraphale and Crowley are only here this time because Hell's involved, _maybe_ they're part of Plan B if he had one." Dipper shrugged, finding a case of water under a workbench but it wasn't what they were after. Hm. "But I don't think he's going to get a chance. Aziraphale told me they found a vessel to throw him in."

Wirt moved a few boxes away from the wall to check them over and look behind them. "So they're going to try and just… shove him in there?"

"I think so, and I think it'll work. Just from the way Crowley helped me get him out. It was really cool." And Dipper was starting to think the holy water wasn't down there. He sighed, but there were other options for them. Maybe Mabel and Greg had gotten lucky. "And so was Aziraphale. Really scary considering the circumstances, but really cool to watch. He's got wings and they're kind of a mess..." But he'd felt _safe_ in them. "And that weird feeling I was telling you about before we tried calling them? It's totally gone. It's... I'm dead tired, honestly, but I feel _good_."

As exhausted as he looked, Wirt had to admit that despite it all, the dark cloud that had been hovering over him the past few days had cleared. Dipper sounded more like himself, his voice and inflections his own. Wirt had been scared that he'd never hear that voice again, see the clarity in his eyes. His Dipper. 

"I hoped they'd help you, but it was so… I was forced out of your mind and I didn't know what else he was doing to you. I didn't know what they'd find." Wirt wrung his hands together, giving up the search too, the holy water wasn't down here, then he went to Dipper and took his hands. "I'm so glad it was still you."

"I... I didn't even know you were in my head ever. I've got a lot of blank time." He looked down at their hands, sighing. His gaze slipped to his wrist, the mark Crowley had burned into it to keep him safe. Ultimately, what had happened in those blank moments wasn't as important as what they all did now that Bill was out of him. He looked back up, squeezing Wirt's hands. "But they did find me. We're going to have that picnic, pilgrim."

Wirt nodded, gently brushing his fingertips over the mark on his wrist. "Does it still hurt?" 

"No. It hasn't since Aziraphale helped me up. I think he did something. Are you and Mabel still in any pain?"

"Just a little sore, I think. I mean, I can't speak for Mabel, but I know Bill didn't have his hands on her for too long. Once this is all over, we'll reassess." Wirt still bent his head to kiss the burn and feel his pulse fluttering just beneath his lips. "Come on. Let's go meet Greg and Mabel."

Pink dusted his cheeks. "Um. Yeah. Hopefully they had better luck than we did."

They did not, unfortunately, have better luck. "We looked all over, but it wasn't there," Greg told them, his empty hands all he had to show for their attempts when they met outside Stan's room.

Mabel nodded, not rubbing at her bandages because her brother had an eagle-eye for certain things. "You guys didn't find it either?"

Dipper shrugged, glancing at the door with some apprehension. "Nope. Guess that means door number three."

Wirt looked equally nervous. "Great."

Greg placed his hands on his hips as he eyed the teens with a raised brow, just visible over the tops of his sunglasses. "I'll scope out the scene if you guys are too nervous."

The twins exchanged glances, somehow alarmed and amused all at once. There was really no telling what was in Grunkle Stan's room, especially since Dipper knew the only place Grunkle Ford would hide anything was under the bed.

"I'll do it," Dipper offered, taking a step closer. He carefully turned the knob to inch it open, and ended up jumping so hard he ended up knocking a shoulder against the wall clear across the hall. "Grunkle Stan!"

He tapped his slippered foot, scanning the four of them with narrowed eyes. "None of you are quiet." He sent Wirt a look. "Not even you before sunrise."

"Uh… sorry, I'm- er, we're-" Wirt stammered, his own hand over his heart as the shock of Grunkle Stan started to ebb.

"We need to search your room for holy water so we can destroy Bill for good. Melt him like that old wicked witch of the West!" Greg told him with the utmost seriousness that he could muster up.

His gaze shifted to the twins, obviously noting the bandages before he settled on Dipper and stepped back to let him in. "What's with the outfit, kid?"

Oh, he'd never been more thankful to be in Gravity Falls. No explanation needed beyond the truth. "Bill did it. I'm probably gonna burn it. Anyway, he's outside with some new friends of ours, so we need the holy water." He dropped down to his knees and peered beneath the bed, letting out a triumphant sound when he saw the case. He hauled it out, double-checked the handwritten super-stickie note attached. "Got it!"

Mabel cheered. "Thanks, Grunkle Stan!"

"Yeah, yeah. Were you shooting off fireworks?"

She pinched her thumb and pointer finger together. "Little bit."

"Tell me about it when the sun's up. And don't shoot each other."

And out Dipper was shooed, the door closed behind him without preamble. He grinned and so did Mabel, though hers was a little more devious. "What?" Dipper wondered.

"I just had a really fun idea! Bill's gonna hate it, but I bet it'll make Crowley laugh."

Dipper's gaze went curious for only a few seconds before it dawned on him too. " _Oh._ We could totally do that."

"We should."

"Yeah, let's do it!" Greg was immediately sporting his own grin to match, even if he didn't know exactly why. 

"Oh no," Wirt sighed.   



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about missing yesterday's update! We'll call it a holiday whoops, lol. We're so used to posting on the first day of Stephanie's work week!

"When's the last time you were in an actual fight, angel?"

"That depends on what you constitute as a fight, my dear. As in, do one-sided affairs count, or must blows be exchanged between two or more parties?" Aziraphale asked conversationally, for clarification purposes. 

"A physical fight. Not really sure how that'd be one-sided."

"Well, that would be if only one person was, ah, roughed up a bit, so to speak. But if you mean a proper fight, then that would be… whenever it was that fencing came into fashion. Mid-1700s? All in good sport though, obviously."

He stopped following Cipher's movements to stare at Aziraphale instead. "Hang on, who the hell would corner _you_?"

Aziraphale sighed and gave him a look. "I'd think it would be quite obvious, given the nature of my so-called trial, but I'll give you a guess."

He had four names in mind immediately, but one would be more likely to give such orders than carry them out. He had a mental list compiled of who he'd introduce to Hellfire in what order and this new information slipped Gabriel down three notches. It'd probably be Michael or Uriel first. Sandalphon was too much of a hands-off sort than a physical one, bloody coward. 

"Fuckers," he growled softly, glancing up as if to send his irritation straight into Heaven. Instead, he watched a triangle flicker in and out of sight and only just managed to whirl around to catch the knife that had been aimed straight for his back. "Still playing with knives, Cipher?"

"You can thank Hastur for the idea. He doesn't have many, so let's give him his due."

"Must we?" Aziraphale sighed, miracling the weapon away so Crowley wouldn't have to waste his energy on it. "I don't believe anyone's keeping score. I certainly won't tell him if you don't."

"Well, I don't think we'll be seeing him for a while as it is. Two discorporations and it hasn't even technically been a full year yet. Beelzebub's gonna have his head and that's before all the paperwork starts."

Aziraphale winced, hands going to his own throat. "Oh, I do hope you mean figuratively."

"I don't actually know."

"Right." Aziraphale focused his gaze back on the triangle above them. "What was it you were asking me about fighting?" he directed at Crowley.

"Oh, well, you answered it. I don't think I have since the King Arthur days, so." He shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"Really? That long?"

"It's not like I go 'round picking fights. If anyone ever tries, it's easy enough to-" He paused mid hand-wave. "Oh, wait, Hastur. I did punch him square in the face just a bit ago. That counts as a fight. And I won that, so I'd say the odds are on our side."

"Oh, good job, dearest!" Aziraphale clapped for him. "I don't think I had a chance to congratulate you earlier on your victory. What with the Hellfire and all."

Crowley smirked. "I dunno. I felt pretty well-congratulated."

"Well, _that_ was for something else entirely," Aziraphale replied, giving him his own cheeky smile in return.

"Do humans just let you two idiots chit chat until you can come up with an escape plan?" Bill wondered. "Because as fun as it is to listen, I'm over both of you meddling in my business."

"You certainly have a way of showing that." Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as another knife shot his way, easily side-stepping it so the blade embedded itself in the grass. "Though I suppose it is rude of us to ignore you, isn't it?"

"Rude to throw knives about too," Crowley muttered, annoyed enough to catch the next one and throw it back. 

It shimmered through Cipher as if he wasn't there, but Crowley could feel the glimmer of his energy roll and weave. He _was_ there, but selectively. They needed to grab what was on their plane if they wanted to get him in his vessel before the kids returned.

"It's not really about politeness at this point. I'm just having a little bit of fun." He didn't have a mouth, but they could both feel his grin. "And once the kids come back, it'll be a lot of fun. I don't need to be _in_ their heads to mess with them."

"Ah, yes. Threatening children. Good on you, old chap." Aziraphale kept his gaze on the hazy outline of his form, following Crowley's line of thinking. If they could get him to lose a bit of his focus, it might increase their odds of getting a good grip on him. "I'm sure that _really_ showed the old bosses downstairs."

Crowley huffed a little laugh. The sad thing was that Hell had enough narrow thinkers that it _would_ likely impress them, but he didn't bother to say so. He'd really played his angel just right in Heaven.

Bill was far less entertained, circling them in search of an opening. He knew as well as Aziraphale that Crowley was nearing his limits, so kept special focus on him. Angels didn't scare him, especially not this one. "You seem pretty interested in protecting them, so why not? Besides, it's not about Hell. They've annoyed me too many times and they're going to pay for it."

"I've devoted myself to protecting all of humanity." Aziraphale caught the next knife meant for Crowley, a feint attack at his back that switched to his side at the last second. "The children are very much included in that. As are the inhabitants of this town."

"Right. All of them sequestered in the manor. It's pretty hard to get all of them in one place, so they'll be next once we're done here. Thanks a bunch for all the help, Angel Cake." Crowley lunged, quick as ever, and got a hand around Cipher's wrist. It felt solid for only a second before he blinked out of existence and appeared a few feet higher. "Oh, nice try, Snake Eyes. Maybe you need a nap."

Crowley grinned, his canines decidedly serpentine and certainly threatening. "Not quite yet. Though you are a little obsessed with my eyes, aren't you? Was the boy right?"

Bill's eye flashed red. "Shut up."

"Oh, I don't blame you. They are quite lovely." Aziraphale circled behind him, opposite Crowley now, and attempted his own grab when the demon slipped a little lower. He hesitated at the last second, his reach falling a bit short.

Bill shot back up, glaring down at him. "Nice try, Angel Cake. I don't think you _can_ touch me."

"Oh, I think he can," Crowley disagreed. "And I always was a bit cleverer than you." Half a dozen knives abruptly flung themselves at the snake, but he just hiked up his jacket to cover his neck and let each blade bounce harmlessly off the miracled fabric. He smirked. "See?" 

" _Crowley_." Though relieved to see nothing happened, Aziraphale couldn't keep the exasperation out of his tone once the initial alarm faded at the sight of him just letting knives hit him. "Good Lord," he muttered, miracling the knives out of existence. "Yes, very clever, my dear."

"Oh, come _on_. Like I'd let him stab me again." Crowley smiled at him, as pleased with himself as ever. "My clothes have been like this since."

Powerless in the face of his delight, Aziraphale smiled back even as he rolled his eyes. Ridiculous creature. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less."

"I haven't stayed around this long by being foolish, angel." Reckless, yes, but never stupid enough to truly risk discorporation. 

No, but Aziraphale had a feeling that a fair amount of sheer dumb luck had factored into quite a bit of it. Not to mention ineffability, as it related to God's plan. Aziraphale shifted his gaze back to Cipher as he continued to stroll around him, returning to Crowley's side. 

"If you think I can't touch you, then why get out of the way?" he asked. "Seems a little silly to avoid something that can't make contact."

"It's called a reflex, smartass."

"Interesting reflex for a supposedly intangible creature." Aziraphale's brow furrowed as the insult registered. "Also, how very dare you."

Crowley let his hand brush against Aziraphale's sleeve, ensuring he was just as protected from the blades Cipher was pulling from somewhere or other. He'd get bored with this standoff eventually because, really, progress had to be made somewhere. Preferably _before_ the kids came back in one heap of distraction.

The more irritated he got, the more reckless, so they'd use it. He wasn't, by most definitions, a good demon, but he was a superb tempter. Cipher wasn't much different from a self-important politician, desperate to impress, to be the smartest person in a room. The less he or his angel were affected, the angrier he'd get. "Ignore him, love. He's hardly worth getting offended over. He never was, from what little I remember of him."

Aziraphale sniffed, still in a bit of a huff about it, but was settled enough by the words of his demon. "I suppose you're right," he accepted, hoping that getting over the slight so quickly would offend Cipher in return. "It's not like I haven't been called worse. Did you know the quartermaster in Heaven called me a pathetic excuse for an angel?" While he'd openly accepted that at the time, and as far as Heaven's standards went he was fine with that, he doubted Bill would appreciate delivering an insult lesser than an angel's. He patted over his heart with a sigh, perhaps a bit overdramatic for Crowley to see through it, but not so much for Bill. "Such callousness."

It was another being on Crowley's shitlist, but he did indeed know his angel was playing it up. Subtlety was rarely his forté. "Well, when they're surrounded by all that blinding emptiness all the time, it's hard to see real radiance."

Now this reaction rang true, Aziraphale's eyes lighting up as he looked at Crowley, exuding that very radiance he'd just complimented. "Oh, _Crowley_." He could practically hear Bill rolling his eye, but paid him little mind, except for when another two knives glanced off his person. "Cipher, would you mind? We're having a moment." He gestured between himself and Crowley.

"I-" 

"Oh, he's been doing this his entire existence," Crowley interrupted, relishing the way his eye flickered red. "Always wanting for attention, always following everyone around like some groupie instead of an actual part of the group."

Bill circled them, but it was disjointed with the way he flickered in and out of view. "I never-" 

"You _did_. Desperate for attention, even after the Fall. Like going as fast as you did actually mattered somehow. We all ended up in the same bloody pit, Cipher. You're not special."

"And you think you are?" he snapped. 

"Whether or not he thinks he is, _I_ know he is," Aziraphale put in. "And he does appear to be the only demon who doesn't want to end the world, so I'd say that makes him stand out quite a bit. But we're not talking about Crowley now, we're talking about you. Isn't that what you wanted? You have our attention."

"Maybe it's not the right sort. Though I don't think you can really afford to be picky about the type of attention you get, Cipher."

"That's _enough_!" he bellowed, his triangular shape going out of proportion and stretching wide. 

Crowley stepped back, reaching into his jacket for the small vessel. "Nearly there," he murmured for his angel, feeling more of Cipher's essence spilling into their plane. 

Aziraphale nodded, stepping forward to seize the demon in an iron grip, now large enough that he was within easy reach. Their contact was charged, something not quite physical being held in place by sheer force of will and expectation. But it was pure demonic essence all the same, and it crackled and burned the angel's corporation once it decided to fight back against the hold. Not so much more than touching a hot dish fresh out of a microwave for a split second might, but it certainly made it more challenging to keep a firm grasp on him.

"Come now, Cipher. Let's be reasonable," he gritted out.

"I'll show you reasonable," Bill snapped, flames licking at Aziraphale's hands. He'd burn his corporation to a crisp if he had to. 

"Shit," Crowley muttered, knowing exactly where Cipher's mind had gone. He looked away to grab the body and as soon as it was out of his pocket, the other demon's energy vanished completely. "Shit," Crowley repeated, but lifted a hand and a Hellish miracle to sort the vessel. Having it in his pocket through everything had gotten it a little battered, but he didn't care at all if Cipher ached a little (or a lot) when he was thrown into it. It just had to be the right size for his demonic soul. 

Before he could snap, though, he went very still as searing pain shot into him. Whether moving between molecules or dimensions, Cipher finally wedged a blade into his back. He was so focused on it that his triangle form had shifted into the human one, but he'd still missed the heart living in Crowley's corporation. Brutally close, perhaps, but the angle was a bad one and the knife just a hair too short. "You're not special either, Crowley," Bill growled, yanking the jagged blade out of his back and ripping a _sound_ out of Crowley's throat in the process that was pure pain. 

He dropped to one knee, limbs not quite listening as he struggled to keep his heart from beating the blood out of his body. It was matting his shirt to his skin regardless, vision blurring a little as he narrowed every bit of his concentration to not bleeding out and not morphing into a snake. Pushed to his limits, his body desperately craved the simpler form but he had to snap for this. His hands were shaking. _Fuck_. 

A snap did echo in the air, but it wasn't his own. The blood spilling from him stilled, frozen for a second before it found itself safely sealed up, back in his veins. It couldn't clear his exhaustion, but it kept the corporation from dying and Crowley with it. 

Before Cipher could vanish and try the same trick again, his demonic energy was seized by coils of holy light and fixed to the Earth just behind Crowley. That same light lit up the pre-dawn sky, the power holding Cipher in place and searing his essence coming down from above. His form flickered between human and triangle as he writhed and shouted, flashes of red bleeding through the white of his bonds fruitlessly, no different than a frantic fly caught in a web.

Aziraphale watched him struggle without any sympathy. His eyes glowed brighter as he held the demon still with his gaze, as cold as the heavenly light that sucked all the warmth out of the summer air. His first motion since snapping was to straighten the cuffs of his sleeves, then, without looking away from Cipher, strode purposefully to Crowley. He laid his hand against his cheek, thumbing over its crest before dropping down to take the vessel from him.

"Leave it to me." His tone booked no argument, and he straightened with the miniature vessel in his grasp.

Snapping again, the empty body enlarged and slumped in his grasp. Aziraphale all but dragged it along the grass to the pulsing, snarling demon. He held it up by the collar, letting it dangle before Cipher, perhaps taunting him or perhaps giving him one last chance at some semblance of remorse. Whatever he saw as he gazed upon him did nothing to satisfy him.

"I did warn you, you know," Aziraphale reminded him, then seized him again and this time the touch didn't burn at all. He didn't allow it.

Crowley pushed himself up to his feet with the same stubbornness with which he did anything, fingers dipping into his pockets as he watched. His sunglasses were doing the very rare job of actually protecting his eyes as he tried to remember the last time he'd seen this much angelic fury. Probably not since the Fall or probably not ever. He watched Aziraphale flick Cipher's demonic essence into the vessel as easy as... well, something. He didn't have nearly enough energy to come up with a good metaphor. 

"You know the mark to seal him in, love?" 

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale pressed the heel of his palm against Bill's forehead once the corporation started to try and pull away from him, then pictured the symbol he'd seen on Dipper's wrist and scribbled in his notes. He pulled his hand back and a perfect impression of Cipher's demonic name was seared into his skin. "There. That should do nicely."

Black, impossibly ruffled wings erupted from behind Bill's back, the last of his demonic essence fully and completely on their plane. Sealed as he was, his dimension hopping tricks would only be deadly for him now. "You mother-" 

"Now I'd be extra careful if I were you, Cipher. You've tried really hard to kill us both tonight, and I don't think either of us are feeling particularly forgiving."

"Fuck off, Snake Eyes. You can barely even stand up."

"I'm a snake. I'm not sssupposed to." But it was taking Effort and he hated that. Wasn't about to admit it, though. 

"Crowley, my dear, he has a point," Aziraphale said, as if it was perfectly reasonable despite the fact that he still held Cipher practically by the throat. "I really would feel so much better if I knew you were sitting down. Or at least leaning against something. You can do that in a cool way, can't you?"

Crowley tipped his head, very unimpressed. "I don't need to sssit or lean against anything."

But he did shiver suddenly, flicking his gaze back to the porch. As battered as he was, his essence could feel the threat of holy water all too easily. Rather than inspiring any sort of wariness, the sight did indeed make him laugh just as Mabel had expected. Of all the things. 

"Ah, children. Just in time." Aziraphale toned down the angelic grace just a touch, letting it spark warningly against Bill's flesh. "While I could smite you where you stand, I believe they've earned the privilege." He smiled far too sweetly as he turned them both to face the porch, Aziraphale pinning the demon's hands behind his back and wrestling his wings out of the way, but he froze when he actually got a good, solid look at the Pines twins and the Palmer-Whelan brothers. "Good Lord, what do you have there?"

Mabel grinned, bright and absolutely devilish. "Water guns!" 

"Water guns?" Aziraphale repeated, frowning as he took a few seconds to make the connection, but when he did he felt most inspired. "Excellent. I suppose I should say, 'fire when ready' then? Or Crowley, would you like to do the honors?"

"No, leaving it to you's worked out well enough for me. I think I'll go lean cooly against the Bentley and get well away from all this holy water."

"Splendid idea, darling." One of Bill's wings thwacked him in the face as Aziraphale gasped more at the indignity of it than due to any actual pain. With a huff, he marched the demon forward until he stood before the four humans. "Do you have anything you'd like to say to him?" he asked them, looking at each of their faces with a swell of admiration for the human spirit. 

From little Gregory in his sunglasses with a super soaker clutched in both hands, to his older brother who'd push aside debilitating nerves and anxiety when it really came down to the wire and brandished a small water pistol of his own. Then bright, wonderful Mabel who had more radiance in her than he'd seen in humans in quite some time, and of course her twin. Aziraphale's gaze lingered on Dipper, understanding the turmoil his soul had endured and the mental and physical trauma of just this evening alone, and still so very proud of the way he stood tall and firm even as exhausted as he was, water gun in hand and surrounded by loved ones at the end of it all.

For the humans, it was different looking at a human face instead of a triangle, but the feeling around Bill was definitely the same. Spilling into the air even when contained, struggling fiercely to get away from the angel. 

There were dozens of things Dipper had thought of saying, clever quips or grander monologues. But Bill really wasn't worth any of it, he decided. He'd _want_ it and even expected it. Dipper grinned as he took aim, more than ready to just end this nightmare. "Bye," was all he said before firing a stream of holy water straight at his chest. 

"So long, sucker!" Greg cheered as he fired next, doing his part to cleanse the world of one bad demon and cleanse himself a little of the guilt he'd carried ever since inviting Bill home with him.

Wirt shot his little brother a look, but didn't say anything and let him have his fun for now. Watching steam waft up from the human-like corporation as it started to sizzle and bubble with unholy wailing, he took aim and got him in the neck, then the arm, then over his heart. All the places he'd left lasting damage on himself.

Mabel didn't fire like they did. She didn't need to, the demon something different for her than for them. She supported them, though, scooping Greg up so he could have a better vantage point and cheering on Wirt. She exchanged identical, gleaming grins with her twin, and it was all she needed while Bill melted like the Wicked Witch of the West. 

It was perfect, as perfect as the arm Dipper slung around Wirt's waist when all that remained was a pile of steaming clothes. "That felt... kind of awesome."

Wirt dropped the water gun to loop both arms around him, turning towards him to press a kiss to his temple. "You know, it kind of did," he agreed with a small laugh.

"We killed him." Greg grinned, startling shocked looks from Wirt and Aziraphale.

"Well, there's no need to put it like that," the angel reasoned, the static of the full force of his angelic abilities fading as his hands fluttered fretfully.

"Greg, please don't say that," Wirt begged similarly.

Mabel started to hum a particular song about witches being dead from a particular musical, making Dipper have to stifle a laugh. It was a little too on-the-nose. "Don't encourage him. Stop."

"How should he say it?" Crowley wondered, meandering back over now that the guns were lowered. He made a wide berth around the puddle to get to Aziraphale's side. "You did kill him."

"Vanquished," Mabel suggested with a bright grin. 

Dipper sent Aziraphale and Crowley a wry one of his own. "Is it sacrilegious somehow to say smote?" 

"I don't believe angels alone have cornered the market on using the word smite," Aziraphale mused thoughtfully, straightening his coat from where it had been ruffled. "Or smote, in this case. Though I quite like 'vanquish.'" He smiled at Mabel.

"Yeah," Wirt huffed, reaching out to ruffle Greg's hair. "You can say we vanquished him."

"But that's not as fun," Greg sighed, just to be contrary. Vanquishing a demon _was_ pretty cool in its own right.

Satisfied with the state of his own coat and with Crowley now firmly beside him, Aziraphale gave his companion a good twice over, noting the rip in his clothes at the back that he hadn't gotten around to fixing in the heat of the moment, so to speak. In a blink all the layers Crowley had on knit themselves back together, the blood they had sopped up already returned to his corporation when the wound sealed. He did feel a slight twinge in his temple at that last miracle, the force of his heavenly power leaving him stretched a bit thin, as well. Nothing a good book and some tea couldn't fix, preferably while sitting next to Crowley as he napped.

Considering the humans in front of him, it appeared they were all a little bit worse for wear. Perhaps a few more miracles were in order before he and Crowley took their leave. "And how are the rest of you faring? Any injuries that need tending to?" He nodded pointedly at the bandage around Wirt's neck and then at Mabel as well.

"I think I'm okay." Wirt rubbed at it under the scrutiny. "It wasn't too deep, obviously, so uh… I don't think it'll scar or anything. It's fine."

Mabel tugged at her sleeves, letting them fall over her hands with a shrug. Aziraphale didn't look like he was one strong breeze from falling over like Crowley did, but he'd been in and out of bodies and what they'd seen of him versus Bill had to have been tiring. "I'll be okay too. Just some time and maybe some more ointment, and I'll be good as new."

Dipper frowned at both of them. "He cut your throat, Wirt, and burned you _again_ , Mabel. Can you maybe just accept the offered help and not carry around reminders?"

"They're _tired_ ," Mabel protested. "And we're very resilient."

"Oh, my dear girl, don't you fret about us. A little bit of healing will hardly be the thing to tip me over the edge." Aziraphale looked at her with the softest of smiles, then addressed both her and Wirt. "It's up to you though. Your bodies are remarkable and will heal on their own with time, and so too will your minds and memories, with the proper care of course. But if these reminders will be more of a hindrance to you, then I will happily take care of them."

"Spoken like a true angel," Crowley teased, all fondness.

Mabel hesitated, but Dipper nudged her into stepping forward. "Okay, okay, okay. Please, but only because I'm in the middle of a very important knitting project and only if it's really not a problem."

Aziraphale reached out to take each of her wrists in hand, cradling them gently as he focused on repairing the skin that had been burned beneath the bandages. It took hardly more than a few seconds to fix the physical damage that Cipher wrought. They would all still carry their mental scars from dealing with him, but at least Aziraphale could help them with this much.

When he finished, he unwrapped the gauze around her wrists, examining the unblemished skin. "There we are. Good as new."

Mabel smiled. They were and it was a lot more of a relief than she'd expected it to be, beyond the loss of the faint stinging sensation. She rolled her wrists and surged forward to wrap Aziraphale up in an impulsive, very her hug. "Thank you."

Quite unused to the sensation of spontaneous hugs, Aziraphale blinked a few times before allowing the swell of her bright, bubbly love to coax him into returning the hug with a firm squeeze of his own. "You're very welcome."

Dipper grinned, relieved and just as grateful as his twin. They were lucky, honestly, that they'd come by when they had. He had no idea how long Bill had been planning all this, but really had no idea what they would've done with all the Hellfire and an actual Apocalyptic scenario without them. He brushed the back of Wirt's hand to get his attention, reaching up to adjust his hat in the process. "Are you-" He broke off, fingers finding only his bangs. Nothing covering the scar he'd been hiding with more desperation than he'd ever tried to hide his birthmark alone.

The _scar_.

The repressed memory Bill had unveiled as just another taunt to Wirt, another threat, barely had time to register before he was grabbed by the wrist and jerked forward, unbalanced suddenly in every way when Crowley pressed the heel of his palm right against his brow.

As tired as he was, he'd still felt the horror and the panic. Quick, unexpected, and definitely unwelcome. He latched on, using the last of his energy to take the memory into himself and burn it away entirely. He wasn't going to stand for Cipher succeeding at one more damn thing, especially not now that he was _dead_. It drained Crowley completely, but he still pushed a little bit harder to wipe the scar away entirely and leave only a birthmark behind.

He blinked at it, a little delirious maybe as he flicked his forehead. "I designed that," he probably remarked, not entirely sure as his body just gave up. He passed out in a pop of scales that Dipper just barely caught.

It was like catching a garden hose, though the black, red-bellied snake was small enough to fit in a pocket or coil up on a shoulder. Entirely bewildered, Dipper looked to Wirt first, then to Aziraphale. "Uh?"

"Oh," Aziraphale gasped, then tsked as he reached out to take the limp snake from Dipper. "My dear, was that really necessary? You could've just asked me," he chided, hands nothing but gentle as he stroked over the scales to make sure it really was just exhaustion that pushed Crowley to this point and not some underlying injury. "So sorry about that, children. He's had quite the night."

Dipper shook his head, reaching up to rub his brow because he knew he'd been about to panic. He just didn't at all know _why_. "I think he just pulled something else out of my head, but..." He shook it. The only one who could tell him what was decidedly unavailable for questions. "He's okay, though, right? Like he's seriously the best. I don't want..."

Touched by the boy's concern over his demon, Aziraphale graced him with a warm smile. "I think once he's had a lovely little nap, he'll be tickety-boo. Don't you fret, dear boy."

Wirt rubbed at his arm guiltily, glancing between Crowley and Dipper as his mind scrambled to put pieces together. He'd seen the flicker of panic on his face when he reached for his hat, realized it was gone and that his birthmark was exposed, quickly reminded of just what had happened in his boyfriend's mind. But it seemed like whatever Crowley had done… had gotten rid of that memory.

Wirt took Dipper's hand and laced their fingers together. "I think I know what it was. I… I can tell you if you want. Later, maybe, after we've gotten some sleep."

"Yeah. Sleep sounds pretty great, honestly." But his gaze still drifted to the bandage at his neck, reminded again of what he'd been ready to ask before the interruption. "Are you sure you're okay, though? Seriously, babe."

He opened his mouth to confirm that he was, but hesitated as their eyes met. If their positions were reversed - and they had been last fall, hadn't they? - he would've wanted something to take away the sight of the bruises left around Dipper's neck in the shape of his own hands. Glancing at Aziraphale, he watched the angel tuck the sleeping snake around his shoulders before stepping forward, hand outstretched in offering. Wirt swallowed met him halfway, letting him heal the cut at his neck, too.

"I-" Wirt stopped himself for a second, uncertain even as the angel watched with patience. "Dipper's thigh… he- Bill cut it open and burned it, too. Where his old tattoo was. I'm sorry, I know you've done so much already-"

Aziraphale held up a hand to stop his nervous rambling. "And the four of you have been through so much already. It's the least I can do. Dipper?"

Of course when it was his turn, he hesitated like the rest of them. But at least he realized it, sighing as he reached Wirt's side. "It's this one," he gestured. "Here."

Mabel smiled while her twin was healed, reaching up to very gently pet the sleeping demon. "You guys aren't going to leave right away, are you?"

"Well, I suppose we might stay a little bit, to be certain no other demons have any ideas of popping up to see what's what, but I believe we're in the clear, as they say." Aziraphale flexed his hand as he finished up the last miracle, then rolled his neck slowly, ever cautious of the serpent trusting him with his safety. "I imagine we'll be heading back to London in the next few days. Give Crowley some time to compose himself."

"I think he's cute this size," Mabel decided cheerfully, glad that she'd have enough time to finish a sweater for them both. "And he's blebbing. Bonus points."

Dipper laughed. "Not sure how he'd feel about that."

"Embarrassed, definitely." The twins grinned at each other.

"Quite," Aziraphale chuckled. "He is a demon, after all. He'd probably say he has no business being 'cute' or some such. But I best be getting him back to the manor-" He paused, suddenly looking in the direction of where the Northwest Manor was. "Oh dear, all the townspeople… I'd better get them back to their homes as well now that the fires are out. The pandemonium up there will likely not be very restful for dear Crowley."

"The whole town's at the manor?" Dipper asked, running his free hand through his hair. "Oh, boy. Does anyone have their phone?"

"Already texting Soos and Wendy," Mabel announced. "And Candy and Grenda. And Pacifica. I have... a lot of missed calls and texts."

Dipper winced. "I can't even imagine what my phone looks like then. But they'll leave once we tell them everything's okay. The only real wild cards are Wendy's family, but what can you do with a bunch of testosterone-fueled lumberjacks?"

"Ah, yes. Them. I hope they didn't run into a tree," Aziraphale hummed pensively. "Or off the side of the mountain."

Greg tugged on Aziraphale's coat. "But everyone's okay?"

"A little rattled, perhaps, but no worse for wear, dear boy." Aziraphale tapped the top of the boy's sunglasses. "And all the Hellfire is now safely contained in the boot of Crowley's car." He gestured to it, considering it for a moment as he let his hand fall. "Which will stay here until Crowley is in fit enough condition to drive it. Yes." He wasn't about to try miracling it over to the manor in his current condition, even if it didn't have a jug of Hellfire in the trunk. "I'll put a protective ward around it, that should keep it safe for the time being."

"We can give you a ride to the manor," Mabel offered. "Since I don't think you can stay here since you blessed it. That's not really restful for Crowley either."

"Wait, you blessed the _Shack_?"

"Well, yes. It seemed like the thing to do in the moment. Crowley and I couldn't be here to fix the barrier, and it didn't seem like a good idea for them to go outside with Cipher prowling around." Aziraphale considered the Shack. "I can unbless it, I think. If it's a problem for you." Though he didn't usually unbless things, that seemed a bit counterintuitive for an angel, but he imagined if he could do something, then he could certainly undo it as well.

"No, it's totally fine. I just think it's..."

"Ironic," Mabel supplied, amused. She scooped Greg up, settling him on her shoulders. He'd been awakened as rudely as any of them and had been his usual trooper-self. "You go change while Greg and I dig up Grunkle Stan's keys. We won't all fit in the golf cart."

"We don't _all_ have to go. You and Greg could get some sleep." Because he knew Wirt wouldn't sleep with him gone and, really, he did want his boyfriend close.

"Pssh."

"We want to stay with you." Greg squirmed to reach for Dipper, only stopping when he realized he was getting too big to make it very comfortable for Mabel to keep a good grip on him, especially when they were all so tired. "Mystery Best Friends have to stick together, so you can't go without us!"

"Oh, I'll be quite fine without a ride, children. Just point me in the direction of the nearest walking path that leads to the manor."

Wirt's brow furrowed. "I don't think there is one."

"There's not," Dipper confirmed.

"And Wirt's the one driving so it'll be safe."

"Hang on-" 

"Nope! You look like death, Dippindots. Wirt's the smartest option."

Dipper's eyes rolled. "Were you planning to _ask_ Wirt?" 

She beamed. "Wirt's not going to say no to taking an angel and his sleepy snake hubby to the manor when they went to literal Hell for us today. Just like the angel isn't going to refuse the ride because he knows we'd worry about them."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to the contrary, though it was a bit odd for them to worry about ethereal and occult beings such as themselves. Obviously he and Crowley could take care of themselves and would be just fine - well, he could take care of Crowley and they'd be just fine - but the angel in him wasn't about to dissuade human kindness. Not when it was his job to encourage it. It was just a bit strange to be on the receiving end of it.

He was also a little bit confused by the term 'hubby.' 

"Of course I'll drive them." Wirt gave Dipper a look, tempted to roll his eyes right back. "I'm more comfortable in the car than in the golf cart anyway. As long as neither of your Grunkles are behind the wheel."

"You say that like they don't pay attention or don't stay on the road." Dipper squeezed his hand, giving in. "I am going to go change, though. I've had enough of all this."

"Good idea," Wirt huffed out a laugh, relieved that there wasn't going to be too much of a fuss. The sooner they got Aziraphale and Crowley back to the manor, the sooner they could all get back home and get some sleep.

"And I need to go get Jason Funderburker and Waddles from their secret base!" Greg exclaimed, tapping on Mabel's shoulder to get her to let him down. "They need to be updated that everything's okay now."

"They absolutely do." She set him down but didn't let go without a fierce hug. "You did great today, corporal. We're all very proud."

"Aw, shucks. I was just doing my part to make the world a better place. And not let it get destroyed." He scraped the heel of his shoe against the ground for a moment of humbleness, then tossed it out the window as he hugged back. "I _was_ pretty great! And so were all of you!"

Mabel laughed, ruffling his hair. "Obviously. Mystery Best Friends always get the job done."

Dipper grinned, kissing Wirt's cheek before he stepped away and opened the door. "Come on, Greg. I'll grab the keys, Mabes."

"Okay!"

The four of them could move quickly when they had a plan, Dipper only pausing to pop some tylenol for the headache he hadn't admitted to and to see his birthmark as he hadn't in a year. Clean and simple, no jagged pink lines to make this special thing about him horrific. It was simply back to normal, though he was dying to know what Crowley had meant. What did a demon have to do with constellations?

He almost asked Aziraphale, but there was an unspoken understanding between the four humans that they let the angel actually rest. Especially since he didn't look completely comfortable in an American passenger seat and inexperienced Wirt was forced to drive up a windy mountainside while the entire town migrated in the opposite direction. It was best not to pepper anyone with questions or distractions and simply let the radio play just under the sounds of Greg's eager retelling of their adventure to his trusty frog.

It was definitely one to remember.

Dipper took the passenger seat after leaving Aziraphale and Crowley at the manor, with reassurances that he'd contact them once his demon was awake again. He didn't hold his boyfriend's hand like he wanted, the trek downwards just as white-knuckled as the trip up, but he did leave a hand on his leg and changed the radio station when the too-cheery morning show hosts came on and greeted the day. He popped in a tape instead, a little surprised when Freddy Mercury started to croon. He hadn't thought he'd grabbed Queen, but okay. He was exhausted enough to not double check.

Greg was also exhausted enough to not make it back to the Shack with open eyes. Mabel cradled Jason Funderburker so Wirt could gather up his little brother, and Dipper was stopped by a very concerned Ford. The barrier was down, there was a pile of clothes by the singed back porch, and a good chunk of his holy water supply was in water guns.

Dipper grinned. "Bill's been vanquished."

So of course he had to stay up a while longer to explain _that_ , carefully dancing around the full extent of everything. No one had said that keeping the exact ethereal and occult nature of their help was necessary, but Dipper wasn't entirely sure that his great-uncle would believe it. It was a line of questioning he didn't want to go down, so didn't.

When he finally made it to his room, he face-planted into his pillow and threw an arm around Wirt. Still just as awake, which was just barely and very stubborn. He turned his head, hat shifting uncomfortably. "Greg and Mabel and everyone's favorite frog settled?"

"Mmhm." Wirt eyed the hat for a moment, then adjusted it so the bill wasn't crushed into the pillow, but left it on. Satisfied with it, he wriggled down to hide his face against his shoulder and draped his leg over Dipper's. "Everyone accounted for, admiral. Except maybe Waddles. I think he's bugging Stan for breakfast."

"Can confirm. I heard him. Grunkle Stan, not Waddles." Dipper kissed the top of his head, sighing. "You think you can sleep a while? Because I might wake up tomorrow morning at this point."

"I wouldn't blame you," Wirt huffed against his shirt, then tipped his head back to look at him before his eyelids became too heavy to manage even that. "I'll probably sleep a good twelve hours at least. If I wake up, I've got some books to read. Don't worry about it." Their lips brushed in a soft kiss, just relishing the feeling of being as close as they could. "Just want you to rest and feel better."

He did feel better. Heavy-limbed and heavy-lidded in his exhaustion, the medicated headache distant but still _there_ , but he felt better in ways he hadn't expected to ever really feel. "I will. We got him, Wirt. All the way."

"I almost can't believe it… After everything, you know? And you've been dealing with him for so much longer. Just doesn't feel real yet."

"I know." Dipper slipped his hat off so he could nuzzle their brows together. "And the scar's gone. That doesn't feel real either."

Wirt blinked at him, a hand lifting questioningly before he brushed aside his bangs. He'd only seen it once without a scar traced over the mark, in the Unknown and before they really knew what they'd mean to one another one day. Whatever memories Bill had him traipse through, in his own head and in Dipper's, didn't really count. He hadn't been with Dipper physically then, been trusted by him to look and rub his thumb over the smooth skin, not raised in the slightest. Not scarred over.

He leaned in and kissed it, letting his lips linger over the center of it for a beat or two. "Did that feel real?"

"You always do, babe." Dipper closed his eyes, loathe to ruin the contented sweetness but he'd be nothing if he wasn't curious. "Whatever Crowley took out of my head had to do with it or he wouldn't have healed it. You don't have to tell me now, but..."

Wirt stroked over his cheek, gaze flitting across his face as he watched him relax under his touch. He pressed a kiss over each eyelid, then snuggled close. "No, it's… you should know. It happened to you, after all." He wrapped an arm around him to hold him back. "Bill went to your repressed memories to show me something… trying to rattle me and hurt you, you know. Typical Bill. But, um…" Swallowing thickly, he focused on his boyfriend's face now rather than the agony he'd been shown. "The memory was from last summer, when you were trapped with Gideon. You were awake while he hurt you. You felt it all. I'm sorry." 

"That..." Dipper frowned, rolling onto his side so they could get closer. "I... It's- It's _weird_. I don't know if I'm just too tired or if it's Crowley, but... That honestly just feels like you told me something that happened in a scary movie. Like I _know_ that's not it at all because I was _definitely_ going to have a full-blown panic attack about it, and I hate that you saw that, but... Just as me now, I don't... I don't have anything for that. Everything connected to it is gone. Gideon, Bill, the memory, the _scar_. It's gone."

Wirt searched the lines of his face, the gentle crease of his brow and lips. "Really? All of it?"

"All of it, babe. I know it happened, and I know what it's been like the last year, but... Knowing I was awake doesn't- It's like knowing the sky's blue. If that makes sense?"

"I… kinda?" His brain was working too sluggishly as it swam through something like molasses in his attempt to process it. "I think it might make more sense tomorrow, just… as long as you're okay, that's what matters."

"I'm okay. And you need to sleep." Dipper kissed him again, just as soft and sweet as the one before. "Good morning-slash-night."

Wirt huffed out a laugh, his eyes finally closing. "Fine, fine… good morning-slash-night. I love you."

Dipper nuzzled their brows together, letting himself relax. "I love you too, babe."

"You're only getting a pass on all these 'babes' because you were possessed. That all changes when we wake up."

"Mm-mm. You've accepted it. It's your petname forever."

"We'll see about that. I've decided, I'll come up with something just as bad for you, just watch."

Dipper laughed sleepily. "It's not bad. It's perfect. My total babe."

"Shut up." Wirt squirmed grumpily against, but had to fight his own smile. "Be careful, being around Crowley and Aziraphale gave me a bunch of options. Dear, darling, _angel_ ," he teased. "'Cept those don't fit. Mm-mm… you're more like… like a kitten or something, from the way you sneeze and stuff. Yeah. So watch it. I'll start calling you 'kitten.'"

"Mm-mm. No. M'not a kitten. You're delirious now, so go to sleep."

"Not delirious. I'll remember." Possibly, he really was fading pretty fast so it wouldn't be too much of a surprise if he'd forget this threat come morning - tomorrow morning - but sometimes things had a weird way of sticking. Perhaps this would be one of them. "Goodnight, Dipper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitten  
> >:3


	17. Chapter 17

When the door to their guest quarters closed upon their return, Aziraphale performed one last miracle for the morning. After setting Crowley down on the plush comforter, sure to get a good spot of sun as the day wore on if he left the curtain open just a crack, he made it so their room would go unnoticed by any and all inhabitants of the manor until either of them decided otherwise. He didn't want to risk any interruptions or interactions with any person until they were both fit to engage in polite conversation. As it was, from the strain placed on the angel's person between bouts of discorporation, traveling to Hell, and more or less unleashing all the raw vengeance of Heaven upon a demon and _then_ having to ride in a car not driven by Crowley with the steering wheel on the wrong side - which was still very thoughtful of the children, and kind, but it was so _different_ \- well, he was fairly certain he'd bite off the head of the next person to address him.

So, their room would remain locked and practically invisible to anyone passing through the hall. Anyone who'd start to wonder about the two strangers still being entertained by the Northwests would find their minds suddenly and inexplicably turned to the _Laws of Cricket_ as determined by the Marylebon Cricket Club per the 1744 draft, of course. 

Unfortunately this meant no tea, but he supposed it was a small price to pay. He didn't quite trust himself to miracle a cuppa that wasn't oversteeped or missing milk or, God forbid, lukewarm. At least he had his copy of _War and Peace_ to settle down with though-

Except he didn't. It was in the Bentley. All his books were in the Bentley.

Aziraphale sagged into the armchair with a slump that was decidedly improper and certainly more like a certain serpent, but there was no one to see and he felt so utterly _bereft_ at the realization that none of his books were with him. It was how he relaxed, how he'd refresh his mind by tuning out the world and his own thoughts as he lost himself to the familiar pages of one of his favorite stories for hours on end. He rubbed his hand over his face, considering his options.

He couldn't miracle the books this distance in his current state. No, they were far too valuable and he might risk losing a page or breaking the binding. The children? He could call them, he had Crowley's mobile telephone… somewhere. Aziraphale stared blearily at the snake, suddenly baffled at where his personal effects disappeared to when he went from human shape to snake shape. It didn't matter, he supposed. The children were already so exhausted, he couldn't possibly disturb them over his books. He didn't really want them near the Hellfire either.

He could walk back to the Bentley himself? Oh, but walking sounded so tedious, and now that it was morning, surely there would be people out and about and they might try to talk to him, too. Now that his books were gone, he was more than fairly certain he'd bite a few heads. Nearly ninety percent certain, at least. He could explore the manor, then. Surely they had a few books somewhere in this place, if only to appear as posh and sophisticated as Preston Northwest deemed necessary for their status, but that would again put him at risk of talking to people.

It was a lost cause. He was doomed.

For an hour, maybe two or three, he sat slumped in his chair and allowed himself a little sulk. It wasn't as if there was anyone to see him. He contented himself by watching the little black coil that was Crowley nestle further in the comforter, paying little mind to way his eyelids grew heavier the longer he looked. His demon did look impossibly comfortable.

Once his sulk faded, Aziraphale decided the chair was too far away from Crowley and thus an unacceptable place to rest. He stood and removed his coat, hanging it in the closet. After some thought, his waistcoat and shoes were also tucked away. Shoes had no place on a bed and his waistcoat was so worn through, best not to take any chances rumpling it by lying on a bed in it.

He wasn't going to sleep, of course, just continue resting close to Crowley. Using the pillows, he created a veritable backrest with which to prop himself up as he reclined, hands folded in his lap and ankles crossed. From here, he began to mentally recite to himself Georgette Heyer's _The Black Moth_ , which he had memorized, until he realized somewhere around page 197 he'd started combining it with the plot from _These Old Shades_ and got everything completely muddled. How embarrassing.

It was also at this point that he realized his backrest had failed him, and he'd somehow ended up flat on his back with the pillows cushioning his head. Equally embarrassing. Crowley had also stirred a bit at some point. He was much closer, likely gravitating towards him for some natural heat. Aziraphale softened as he reached out to stroke him, ever so lightly along his back. There would be no sign of injury, nothing to say he'd been stabbed in the back and very nearly…

Aziraphale inhaled a shuddering breath, to distract himself or collect himself, and tried not to think about what could have happened if he hadn't been there to intervene, or if he hadn't been able to heal him. There was only one problem: there hadn't been time to fret about it in the heat of the moment; now he had nothing but time to fret.

Very gently, taking great care not to disturb him, Aziraphale cupped the snake in his palms and placed him on his chest. Crowley seemed not to mind it. From the way he coiled and rubbed his chin against his shirt before settling, he found him just as warm and comfy as the bed itself, which the angel decided to find flattering. With the light yet grounding weight of the snake curled up on him, Aziraphale felt more at ease, trying once more to recite something to himself. Perhaps something simpler…

He didn't get a chance to choose something else. For the first time in a long time, Aziraphale fell asleep and didn't even notice. Later, he'd suppose that was part of the whole sleeping thing, not noticing that it was happening.

Some part of him, however, did notice Crowley and kept a hand curled around him protectively for as long as he remained asleep and as a snake.

One of those things lasted just over a day, sun in the sky when awareness began to creep in. He stretched and rolled under the gentle weight, tongue peeking out to scent the air and leaving him satisfied when there was only Aziraphale. Perfect. He could go right back to sleep, safe and sound near his angel, but when he curled up again, he brushed over something that felt like a button. 

Oh. 

He shifted again, golden eyes blinking open, and there were definitely buttons. Surprise kept him awake more than anything, gaze traveling up the line to an open collar and, equally shocking, a sleeping angel. He knew he wasn't discorporated, his body wonderfully warm and steadily breathing. Unnecessary, but natural. Another human quirk they'd each picked up over the millenia. 

And very sweet in his angel now. Lying down had obviously been intentional, just based on the lack of waistcoat, and Crowley doubted he would've been able to slither up here while asleep so his placement was just as intentional. He was unbearably sweet, dangerously close to precious. The word alone was embarrassing, but not quite enough to chase him away. It was too unique an opportunity to slither away from, every inch of his scaly self brushing against Aziraphale's fingers in a rippling stretch. He had no idea of the time or even the date, but it didn't really matter when time was limitless. 

It might matter to the kids, though. But they'd been fine enough, last Crowley recalled. Triumphant in murdering a dream demon and only mildly injured. He was fairly positive he'd succeeded in removing Dipper's traumatic memory, so that was fine. The town had been somewhat ruined by Hellfire, so perhaps he should get moving and see how that was faring. He'd fixed almost everything down that main road, though the gas station and used car lot were still a disaster. He'd focused more on the trees. The odd log-shaped diner had been fixed and he'd gotten the char off the businesses. The cinema, he recalled. That was decidedly still a disaster. Shame, really. He liked theatres. He'd have to fix that when they went into town.

Later, he decided almost before the thought was finished. He was tired of humans for the moment, very content to stay right by his angel. Though perhaps in a different shape. 

He slid off him, reaching the edge of the bed before his limbs and all the rest reappeared. The mattress dipped a little under the new weight, dipped again when there was a shift behind him. Crowley covered a yawn, slipped off his glasses in the process, and looked back over his shoulder to smile easily at a sleepily blinking angel. And because he didn't know when he'd get the chance again, he rolled back and sprawled onto his side next to him. "Hello, Aziraphale."

"Crowley," he hummed, a smile of his own spreading as the haze of sleep began to wear off. It was still a bit strange to muddle through, entirely unused to the heavy sensation, but the sight of his demon up and put to rights coaxed him out of it. "Hello, my dear."

He reached out, fingertips just barely brushing his cheek. "All that Heavenly wrath take it out of you, love?" 

His lashes fluttered at the light touch, the contented sound spilling out normally reserved for a particularly satisfying pastry at breakfast, but perfectly fitting in this context, too. "A bit," he acquiesced, shifting so he could roll onto his side as well, facing Crowley. "At least I didn't turn into a snake."

Amused and encouraged, Crowley let the light touch firm a little to cup his cheek. If Aziraphale would let him sleep on his chest, he could do this. "You probably shouldn't start. Be a bit odd."

"Just a little," Aziraphale huffed, equally amused even as his face warmed a degree or two under Crowley's palm. His brow furrowed some as the last events of the day prior began to filter back to him. "Did I really fall asleep?"

"Apparently since you're just waking. Left your books in the car, didn't you?" His eyes warmed, but his smile turned wicked. "Didn't have a single thing to do but cuddle up and have a nap."

"Don't tease me, Crowley," he complained half-heartedly, quite tempted to continue cuddling up and nap some more now that he had a suitably sized, comfortably warm demon beside him. "I at least attempted to find ways to pass the time at first, but you looked so cosy. Tempted me right into it. Without even lifting a finger. Or um… tail or- nevermind. Without even trying, then."

"I'm very good at what I do, which does include teasing you. It's been six thousand years; I won't stop now." His hand slipped up, fingers gliding through soft curls. A sleepy Aziraphale was a very fascinating thing. "You are alright, aren't you? I've never actually seen you sleep."

"Oh, yes. Absolutely tickety-boo. Don't you fret, darling." His eyes nearly closed again, a shiver collecting at the base of his neck at the foreign, affectionate gesture. "But what about you? You did wear yourself out quite spectacularly with that last miracle. Are you feeling better?"

"I could do with more sleep, but I have limbs. I'll call it better, considering." Considering the fact that he had come embarrassingly close to dying. It wasn't a pleasant thought. "Are you going to come closer or do I have to do everything?" 

That chased away the lingering, sleepy haze faster than a snap, Aziraphale's eyes bright as they widened. "Oh- er… well, I thought- I didn't want to accidentally fall back asleep, you see, since it was so unexpected this last time and you feel so warm, I thought surely-" he explained in a bit of a ramble, pinned by golden eyes that had absolutely no business looking so fond. "But it appears, as it were, that I no longer feel at risk for that, so… ah…" He swallowed, gaze dropping to assess the space between them. One hand found itself resting against Crowley's hip as he slid himself across the covers until their knees touched, their chests nearly brushing if they didn't breathe, and absolutely coming into the slightest contact when they did. "How's this?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"Surprising." And very welcome, Crowley resuming the careful strokes of soft curls and, of course, his teasing. "I wasn't actually expecting you to move."

Aziraphale gaped at him. "Then why did you say it like-? Oh, you foul fiend." He could feel a flustered sort of warmth in his cheeks, and the urge to tease back just a bit. "Well, in that case…" he trailed off as he made to slide back an inch. 

"Oh, no, you moved. You're staying." His hands slid down to the small of Aziraphale's back, nudging him closer again. "I've never gotten to wake up beside you, and I'm going to enjoy it."

Aziraphale grinned at him, pleased to be the one doing the goading this time and that it worked. "Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I can't say no," he reasoned, idly stroking over his slender hipbone as he softened into a more tender look. "Is that something you'd like though? To wake up beside me?" 

From the sweetness of the question to the unexpected touch, no one threw him off balance quite like Aziraphale did. "I've thought about it," he admitted carefully. "Never expected you to sleep, but I've..." Wanted to ask. "I've thought about asking you to bring a book up to bed or some such. Never quite seems to work out."

He hadn't expected such open admittance from Crowley, but was completely charmed by it all the same. "I can't say that sleeping will become a habit of mine, but I think bringing a book to read in bed while I lie beside you might be a welcome addition to our side."

"Good. Worth a try anyway." They normally sealed their agreements with a handshake, but there was another welcome addition he hadn't gotten to explore nearly enough yet and his mouth was right there. A quick glance down was all the warning he gave before closing the distance between their lips. 

Aziraphale's fingers flexed against Crowley's hip, then gripped tighter as he pressed closer. Slowly, almost hesitant at first, his palm skimmed along his side, his touch growing bolder as he crested over his chest. He lifted his hand to cup his cheek as he kissed back, doing his part to seal this agreement with enthusiasm. As new as this bit was, Aziraphale could also agree it was very welcome indeed.

He wanted to sip from Crowley's lips as if he were a fine wine, savor him like any of his favored treats or a good book, except _better_. He'd never run out of Crowley. Never be satiated, always a page to turn. Some strange old ancient bird that Crowley made up could sharpen its beak on whatever mountain across the universe for years and years until it was whittled down to dust and he'd still not have his fill of him. And he'd _enjoy_ it.

"My dear Crowley," he sighed when they parted, thumb stroking over the little snake tattoo. "I take it that this will be part of our new arrangement, too?"

"So long as you keep saying my name like that, yes." And looking at him like that and kissing back. He decided he liked the sweet little touch, too, capturing Aziraphale's wrist so his lips could brush those fingertips instead. It was all integral parts of the whole kissing him experience, really. His eyes, so focused on him, always managed to draw out more than intended. This, even unintentionally, was no exception. "'When love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.'"

As if the light kisses against his fingers hadn't been staggering enough. The words that spilled so easily from the demon's well-kissed mouth reached for him beyond his corporation, wrapping around him centuries' worth of love. Aziraphale took a breath just so Crowley could render him breathless, and his heart began to pulse just so it could skip a beat. 

"That's…" Shakespeare. Oh, it suddenly felt not so long ago that they'd stood together in the first millennium of their Arrangement, as titillated by the sound of Crowley's laughter as he was by the funny ones themselves. The play he'd quoted wasn't particularly romantic, but the way he delivered his line, the smoky timbre of his voice threatened to make _him_ drowsy with his love for the sound of it.

He kissed him firmly, hoping to draw more poetry from lips that were more divine to him than all of Heaven. Then he kissed him again, and again, murmuring his name between each one to give him his only requirement. " _Crowley_."

The reaction threatened to discorporate him, Crowley overwhelmed by everything Aziraphale. He'd happily drown in the river of him, but rolled him onto his back during one of those kisses if only to free up both hands. One stayed low at his waist and the other delved into his hair. Now that they'd discovered how soft those curls were, his fingers seemed insistent on getting lost in them. He also used the new position to move his mouth, freeing it from Aziraphale's reach and hiding it in the space where his bowtie should be. A warm, tongue-dampened kiss was followed by, "'Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.'" It served as more than just a quote, confession and promise wrapped into it. 

The verse made him tremble as Aziraphale heard every ounce of truth in his words. He could feel it in the core of his being, radiating with a warmth only Crowley could inspire. How he'd ignored this pull for so long, the depth of the demon's feelings, had taken an immense amount of restraint. They'd both hidden these parts of themselves, smothered them under weak rationalizations and shallow excuses, enough to keep them from bobbing to the surface, but not nearly capable of suffocating the life out of them.

His warm breath and soft wet of his mouth made him shiver, all control over his pulse lost as his hands sought purchase in Crowley's jacket. Arms winding around his shoulders, he tugged him up so he could see his face again, so he could lose himself in his golden gaze. Their noses brushed and Aziraphale caressed the nape of Crowley's neck to keep him close.

"'I, beyond all limit of what else i' the world,'" he murmured, hardly willing to hold anything back anymore as he looked upon him with all the light of his heart in his eyes, "'do love, prize, and honour you.'"

"Angel," he sighed, awed to actually see it. Maybe a distant part of him could feel it or maybe that was just a reflection of his own heart, but it hardly changed anything. He knew the depths. "Just the world?" he softly teased. What else could he do, ill-equipped as he was to handle the rush of emotion in this tender moment.

If Aziraphale could have softened further, he would have. "You wily old serpent. How about in all eternity then? Will that satisfy you?" 

"Only because I know it's true, love." And because Aziraphale knew it went both ways. Their eternity would be equal. They'd both waited far too long for it to be anything less.

Aziraphale buried his fingers in the red of his hair, carding through it to give some semblance of style back to its tired, thoroughly mussed appearance. "It is true," he agreed, gently rubbing against his scalp. "As long as you don't scare me like that again, Crowley. I don't know what I'd do if you… were destroyed with your vessel."

He kissed him again, an easy way to reassure them both. "I know, angel. I've no plans to deal with that sort of thing again. Though your response was... very illuminating. You're not a principality to be trifled with."

"Oh, you've only just now noticed?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and gave his hair a light tug.

"Oi," he protested, raising a brow right back. "If you recall, _I_ said you could handle him. _You_ let him burn your hands that first grab."

"I didn't _let_ him. I was assessing how much power I would need to use to keep him tethered in place. I didn't expect him to actually succeed at setting me on fire, I wouldn't have let him get that far," he sniffed, but had returned to stroking through Crowley's hair to set it to rights before relenting and acknowledging the first part of what he'd said. "I do appreciate your steadfast belief in me, darling."

"I know what you're capable of, angel. Never had the pleasure of seeing it, but I've known." 

Aziraphale's lips curved up as he bestowed another precious kiss to Crowley's. "And I you. You've always been quite the hero yourself." The hand not caught in his hair smoothed down his back, then gave his hip a pat. "I suppose we'd better get a wiggle on, don't you think? No rest for the good. At least until we get back to London."

Crowley sighed, deciding not to comment on the ridiculous hero notion, and rolled off of him to start patting his pockets. He still had a tartan bowtie safe and sound, but his mobile was missing. "Think you still have my phone, actually. Should probably figure out how long it's been. How did we even get back here?"

Aziraphale sat up, his curls fluffed up from a combination of being pressed into the pillow and Crowley's hands. He glanced down at the rest of him, patting his trousers and surprised by the lack of waistcoat. Right, yes, he'd removed it. 

"The children gave us a lift. I carried you," he told him as he slid off the bed to examine the wardrobe, in search of the mobile telephone. "I didn't want to move the Bentley without your permission, and I also wasn't feeling quite up to it at the end of it all. So the children very kindly offered, and well, I couldn't refuse. Ah." 

His cheeks reddened as he realized he _did_ have Crowley's phone in his coat pocket. So he didn't need to spend all that time wondering where it had got to when Crowley was a snake. He'd had it the whole time. He pulled it out, clearing his throat as he offered it to him.

Crowley rose, rolling his neck as he took it to check the messages and call history to compare the times. "It's only been a day. The girl one's asked if we're alright, so they're up and about."

"Excellent. One day isn't bad at all." Aziraphale sounded proud, as if they'd made quite the accomplishment. He buttoned up his waistcoat and fiddled with it until it sat just right. "Ah, my dear, do you still have my bowtie? I know you said you wanted to keep it until we got home..." But he still felt entirely exposed and not quite right.

He hit send on a response to Mabel before checking his pocket, withdrawing the tartan fabric. "Yeah. You don't quite look finished without it, really."

"Nor do I feel quite finished." Aziraphale did up the open buttons at his throat, then flipped up the collar as he took the tie from him. He tied it neatly, smoothing his collar back down and adjusting it with something of a happy sigh, beaming at Crowley as he detected a bit of the demon's warmth and scent lingering on the fabric. "There. Much better."

"Eh. It's still tartan." It wasn't stylish, but it was his angel. "Don't forget your shoes."

And his coat, still in tip-top condition. With all his articles of clothing in place, he felt more prepared to face whatever the day had in store. "Shall we check on the children and the rest of the town? Then perhaps we might get a spot of lunch."

"Yeah. I might fix their gas station and some of the businesses I missed. A Hellfire tirade isn't really a thing a town like this can handle."

"True. It is rather isolated. Fixing up a few of their commerce buildings should be sufficient to help them get back on track," Aziraphale reasoned. "Just don't overdo it, my dear."

"Don't start worrying, angel. I'm fine." He slipped his phone out again when it buzzed, glancing at the message with an arched brow. "The girl one really likes exclamation points," he mused, but paused midway through a response. "Hang on. They gave us a lift up here? Are they even old enough _to_ drive?"

That gave Aziraphale pause as well. "Oh. Well, I didn't ask. I just supposed they were when they offered. Obviously not young Gregory, but the other three. What is the age requirement for driving these days?" 

"No idea. Just thought they had to be grown." He looked back at his phone, erased what he'd started and asked her if they were of age. "Which one drove?" 

"Wirt did. He was deemed the best choice of the three, it would seem. He did fine, it was just so disconcerting to be on the wrong side of the car." Aziraphale shook his head and suppressed a shudder. "I think I'd much prefer to walk than endure another ride in an American automobile." Thus a walking path down the mountain that was neither too strenuous nor disturbed too much of the natural wildlife found itself snaking its way into existence.

Altering the vehicle was always an option, but Crowley could understand why Aziraphale hadn't between the expense of limited energy and confusing the children who were, according to Mabel's next text, not _technically_ old enough to be driving alone. Oh, he liked the lot of them. Troublemakers, all, even the scared one. 

He pocketed his phone without replying. Let her think they disapproved. Crowley at least didn't and he thought Aziraphale would let it slide too. "You won't have to, angel. We'll have the Bentley back soon enough. And all your books."

He visibly perked up at the thought of his books, the buoyancy carrying him out the door, only just remembering to remove the miracled equivalent of a "do not disturb" sign on their door. They continued to fly relatively under the radar as they made their way through the manor, and the sound of bells continued to be silent in the halls. 

As they stepped outside, there was a lightness to the area that hadn't been present before. As if an entire weight had been lifted from not only the shoulders of Dipper Pines and his family, but the entire town. Bill Cipher's claim to the colony of Hell was severed as he ceased to exist.

"Can you feel that, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked while they strolled down the road leading into town. "I hadn't even really noticed it before, but now that it's gone… Well, it's like there was a strong presence here before. Infiltrating everything."

"There was. It's all his demonic pressure that's gone. The threat of him."

"Oh, thank goodness." Aziraphale's hand fluttered over his chest, relieved smile blossoming. "This town deserves the opportunity to thrive without being under that oppressive influence."

"Doesn't seem like he was managing to influence much." Crowley shrugged, fingers only just dipped into his pockets as he walked. "Temptations work best if you're not wrapped up in yourself."

"Yes, but I'm sure on some level the people living here must have felt- well, _something_ in the air. Some humans are quite good at that, you know." Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of him, as pleased as anything. "Now they don't have to worry about it. And the world truly is safe once again." Two Apocalypses thwarted in two years… "Crowley, you don't suppose Heaven and Hell will try to make a habit of this, do you? Trying to find roundabout ways to end the world every so often?"

One hand left a pocket, slinging around Aziraphale's waist in something that could've been companionable but was definitely more. "It's possible, but I don't think it's too likely. Hell doesn't have any other banished demons that I can think of and there definitely wasn't another colony. This feels like a one-off situation. And Heaven, well... They have everything to lose by attacking at the wrong time and they know it."

"One can only hope." Aziraphale stepped closer, glancing down at the hand at his waist before untangling his own fingers to rest his palm against the back of it and keep it there. 

\----

Over twenty-four hours in bed had not been in the cards for the four humans they'd helped in averting Weirdmageddon Part 2, as Mabel dubbed it. They'd slept half the first day away, then spent the rest of it with movies and cuddles and Mabel's knitting needles clicking away. Her gift was the least any of them could do, so they each took turns holding her yarn when she needed a second pair of hands and Dipper didn't even tease her about it when the obvious tartan pattern emerged. 

"It has to match his bowtie, so it's a good thing I took pictures when he was discorporated. He wasn't wearing it after Hell, so I hope it's okay."

Dipper chuckled. "I guess. What's the big deal about it being flannel?" 

"Flannel's a fabric."

"Plaid, then."

"Plaid is a big cloth or a blanket."

She grinned at him when he stuck his tongue out. This was on her wheel of knowledge, so he believed her and her smug answers. "What's the big deal about the pattern?" 

"Tartan. And I don't _really_ know if Aziraphale's got any significant ties to it since he's an angel and everything, but tartan patterns used to be really regional in Scotland and then they were banned for a long time and then at some point, the colors and patterns started getting tied to specific clans." She'd stumbled into research and, as it had involved clothes, she'd been intrigued enough to read and remember. "So even if it doesn't matter to him, it matters to me."

"What about Crowley?" He eyed her bundle of black yarn. "You're not giving him plaid. Tartan."

"Not completely. He's part of Clan Aziraphale, so you'll just have to see what I do."

"Okay, okay."

They all would because she didn't finish before they went back to bed that night, far earlier than usual, but still very tired. 

For Dipper, him being him, that also meant waking up early. He'd been as patient as possible waiting for everyone else, up and down from Grunkle Ford's lab as they discussed the implications of possession whilst under the influence of heavy medication. It was also rather clear that he'd have to put the barrier back up, though promised he'd do it later. As in, after one angel and one demon left. He still wasn't admitting to the demon and angel thing, only smiling politely and filing questions about dinosaurs away for later when Ford went on a little tangent about someone being in that much denial. Of course they existed. 

And, well, Dipper wondered if their actual existence in Gravity Falls had something to do with Bill or maybe even just Hell in general? Questions for later. 

More immediate questions, once his family was up and about and pancakes eaten, concerned the state of Gravity Falls. It was his home, even if just for the summers, but it was his _home_ and he had to know every inch of damage and help every single business owner or homeowner or whatever that had been burnt.

And, thankfully, it was less than anticipated. There was no electricity in town, the main lines down, but homes had been untouched besides. Stores were closed, a handful damaged and the cinema absolutely destroyed. Oddly, the library and museum were standing but the artifacts inside were missing. Much like Lazy Susan's diner. The scattered decorations in there were gone, leaving just the shell. Considering the state of the statue in the middle of town, Dipper was willing to bet more buildings than just the theatre had been completely wrecked. And if Aziraphale really couldn't fix things hurt by Hellfire, it was another thing to be grateful to Crowley for. 

The spirit of Gravity Falls was, as always, strong. For the townsfolk, it was day two of the clean-up that the Mystery Best Friends finally emerged from the Shack. And that was its own source of guilt for Dipper. If not for the other three members of their team and Wirt's fingers laced so firmly, so encouragingly, with his, he would've wallowed in it more instead of jumping at the chance to help plan the rebuild. 

The biggest problem, besides the electric, was gas. Their one and only station had caused a small crater of damage that was, thankfully, pretty limited to just its corner of the Falls. Even the trees around it didn't seem disturbed. 

"Do you even know who to call?" he asked of Sheriff Blubs, frowning at the crater. Deputy Durland was either trying to climb out from where he'd fallen into it in the roping-off process or he was enjoying rolling down the incline again and again. It was likely both, leaning towards the latter. 

Sheriff Blubs did not discourage him. He scratched under his chin contemplatively instead. "Government?" 

So no. Dipper sighed, pulling out his phone. "I'll send Mayor Tyler a message and look it up." He didn't know _how_ exactly, but if enough calls were made, he'd get to the right people eventually. 

Mabel shook her head, smiling down at Greg and the popsicle he'd gotten from the grocery store when they'd paused there. "That might take a while. Good thing we got rations."

"Yeah!" he agreed, mouth stained purple from the grape flavored treat. "Maybe they'll send us a new gas station. And maybe another candy store."

Wirt's brow furrowed, his attention drawn away from keeping a close eye on Dipper to make sure he didn't overdo it. "Greg, nothing happened to the candy store. It was pretty fine." A little sooty and singed, but still standing along with the rest of the block.

"I know. I just think we need another candy store."

"Well, that's not how it works anyway-"

"Hark!" Greg shouted, cutting him off as he pointed his popsicle towards the road. "A herald angel and a demon!"

"What?" Wirt blinked, he and Mabel following his gaze until they fell on Aziraphale and Crowley, the former giving a little wave as they were spotted and the latter very much no longer a snake.

"Hello! How are you, my dear children?" Aziraphale greeted warmly.

Mabel was thrilled to see them, both fine enough to be up and about. "Well, Dipper's never seen a problem he didn't want to solve-" 

"Hey!" 

"-so we're busy. But we're good. How are you guys? Crowley, you're not a cute snake anymore!" 

" _Ngk_. I'm a _demon_. I'm not _cute_."

"Whatever you say, dearest." Aziraphale smiled at him, a bit patronizing one could say, but otherwise left him be. "We're quite fine. Perhaps not perfectly tip-top, yet, but getting there. We wanted to have a bit of a look around town first. See what the damage is thus far. So, what have we here- oh. Well, that is a big… crater, isn't it?"

"It was the gas station," Greg supplied as they looked over in time to watch Deputy Durland roll right back down again.

"I see. So it was."

Dipper stepped away from the sheriff as he finally saw fit to help his longterm partner, knowing they'd both end up at the bottom together. "Thankfully, most of the town is okay besides this, the theatre, and the electric. I mean, stuff's missing from inside places and there's some singed spots here and there. But all things considered, we're good. Thank you," he added, glancing at and making Crowley frown. 

"You're very welcome. It was nothing really," Aziraphale accepted the gratitude on their behalf, but did pause to consider whether or not it was really 'nothing.' "Well, it was a bit of a tricky situation, but Crowley did get to discorporate Hastur in the end and no one was hurt. Though, er…" He eyed the two law enforcement officers and lowered his voice. "Are they alright?" he asked.

"Ah... They're just... like this," Dipper explained, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mabel giggled. "We don't need real police in Gravity Falls, so it's just them. And they do actually do things right sometimes."

"True," her twin agreed. "It's weirder when they do somehow. But, yeah, nobody's hurt. Everyone's fine."

"Ah, good then. That's very good." The angel beamed at them both. "Well, we're here to offer our assistance in whatever way we can. I was hoping there'd be something left of the old station to work off of, but we'll just have to make do. Crowley, I suppose I'll leave the fossil fuels to you?"

"Yeah, shouldn't be difficult." 

"You don't have to-" Crowley's snap cut off Dipper's protest, closing the crater and settling the two bumbling officers in their vehicle with no memory of how they'd gotten there in the first place. Another filled fuel tanks underground and laid the cement for the station. "Whoa."

Aziraphale hummed his approval, then snapped a canopy overhead, six filling stations with the appropriate piping to the fuel tanks, and a little convenience store perfect for picking up snacks. A few overhead lights were added, for safety at night, though they didn't come on at the moment due to it being neither night nor the power grid properly functioning. Trash and recycling receptacles were posted at the three columns to discourage littering. It wasn't an identical replica of the old station, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had paid it any mind while it was standing, but it resembled what the angel thought to be the traditional looking filling station.

"How's that?" he asked, looking to Dipper and Mabel for approval when Wirt and Greg also watched the twins for their opinion.

"Great. Cool. I'm not gonna get used to that, but it's awesome."

Mabel laughed. "It's nicer than it used to be, so thank you."

"Oh." Aziraphale considered it. "Should I make it a bit… less nice? Are there too many… what are they called, dearest? Nozzles? The things that pump the petrol into the car."

"Pumps, angel."

"And it's great just the way it is," Mabel assured him. "Don't change a thing."

"No one'll notice and if they do, it'll just be... accepted. We're used to the unexpected in this town."

"Can you give the little store a frozen yogurt machine?" Greg asked.

Aziraphale's smile turned fond as he looked at the boy, then amused when his older brother flicked him. "It doesn't need a frozen yogurt machine."

"No, but I bet it wants one. What store wouldn't want a frozen yogurt machine?"

"A bookshop, most likely," Aziraphale pointed out, but quietly snapped one into being just the same. It did sound like a good idea for a convenience store.

"Spoiling them now, are you?" Crowley softly teased, a snap of his own righting downed power lines and flickering their electric back to life. No use in letting brand new yogurt melt.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Aziraphale lifted his chin and refused to look at him for a minute, though was pleased to see the electric working. "Don't think I don't know about the improved popcorn machine you added to the cinema when you fixed it, you wily old serpent. Or the luxury seats."

He liked theatres and he liked popcorn. Even if he wasn't planning on using either in this town, he wasn't going to leave them with some dilapidated mess. "You can't prove it's not what they had before. S'not like I have floorplans of these places."

"Well, you can't prove this place didn't have a frozen yogurt machine," Aziraphale tutted. "Perhaps young Gregory and Wirt have never been inside the convenience store."

"That's true. We haven't," Greg giggled.

The twins exchanged matching, bright grins. They certainly had been and there had definitely not been frozen yogurt, but nothing in the theatre could have ever been described as _luxury_ either. The popcorn machine, too, had always had a 50/50 chance of burning kernels. Neither was going to get in the middle of this bickering session.

"So, anyway, I think this means the whole town's, like, fixed again. There are some things missing from inside places, but I've got a plan. At least for the library and the museum. Lazy Susan's excited about redesigning the diner."

"Wonderful. Oh, I'm glad everything worked out so well." Aziraphale made a so-so gesture with his hand as he caught Dipper's eye. "Well, mostly well. Certainly the possession piece could have gone a bit better."

Dipper shrugged. "Only if he hadn't made it in at all. But I think everything turned out the best it could've."

"All's well that ends well!" Greg agreed, pumping his fists in the air.

Aziraphale brightened. "Oh, my dear boy, you know Shakespeare?"

"What?" Greg blinked at him, but it couldn't be seen from behind the lenses of his plastic sunglasses.

"What you just said, that's the title of one of Shakespeare's plays."

The child's brow furrowed. "No it's not. It's a saying."

"Well, yes, but it comes from Shakespeare himself. Many modern sayings do."

"That's impossible," Greg huffed, hands on his hips. "Shakespeare's super old and dead. He can't have come up with stuff we say today."

"But he did," Aziraphale protested, starting to get just as huffy. "If you look back at the history of modern-day literature and language-" He cut himself off as Crowley's subtle headshake distracted him. "Oh, er… well, nevermind."

Wirt covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile, gently nudging his little brother with his foot. "Just let it go, Greg."

Mabel ruffled his hair fondly. "Don't worry, Aziraphale. Between Dipper and Wirt, he'll learn plenty about Shakespeare one of these days." And she'd hide him away when it got to be too much. 

"He already likes _Lion King_ ," Dipper pointed out. "That's basically _Hamlet_ for kids."

Crowley looked pained and, for reasons that eluded the humans, a touch embarrassed. "There's a _Hamlet_ for _kidsss_?" 

"Well, it's… it was kind of based on _Hamlet_ ," Wirt attempted to explain. "But not everyone dies."

Greg's mouth opened in an intrigued little 'o.' "Wait, everyone _dies_?" He grinned. "I want to see _Hamlet_."

"Good Lord." But it was Aziraphale's turn to not quite hide his smile as he glanced at Crowley, a pleased, fluttering warmth spreading through the center of his corporation. "Well, not everyone dies, but we shall leave who does and doesn't for you to find out on your own."

Dipper looked between them, intrigued. "Wait, what do you guys have to do with _Hamlet_?" 

"Nothing," Crowley denied, turning away from the lot of them. Mortifying things. "I'm going to get the Bentley now."

Aziraphale let him get a few steps away before leaning in close, keeping his voice low. "He used a miracle to make it a success because I asked him to. Even though he prefers the funny ones." He tapped the side of his nose. "Think he got a bit carried away."

Mabel patted her heart. "That's so romantic."

"Yes, well… I suppose it is." Aziraphale turned to look after his demon, a small sigh escaping as he reflected on the success of _Hamlet_ with a newfound appreciation born from the events of this morning. "We'll meet you back at your home then?"

"Yeah. I'll just check on Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland, then we'll head back up."

Mabel nodded, beaming. "Don't let him drag you guys away before we get there just because he's embarrassed."

"I'll endeavor to make certain he does nothing of the sort," Aziraphale promised with a wiggle and a wave. "Pip pip!"

Sure enough, the Bentley was still parked around the back of the Mystery Shack, right where they'd left it, though one angel and one demon were nowhere to be found. Until they poked their heads into the gift shop, miraculously unlocked and open for them to peruse while they waited for the children to return. Aziraphale looked intrigued by the bobbleheads in Stan's image, while Crowley was changing the order of the t-shirts sizes, just for a bit of harmless fun. Greg thought the idea was fantastic, hurrying over to help him with the next shelf. Wirt rolled his eyes, and murmured to Dipper that he'd make sure Greg put them back in order later that day.

It wasn't any different from the tourists, really, which is what Dipper started to say before he heard Crowley laugh. "Hellion," he said, the insult all praise before he stole Greg's sunglasses and slipped his own onto the boy's nose. "There. You'll grow into 'em so long as you don't lose 'em."

Greg gasped, adjusting them carefully so they wouldn't fall off his face. "You mean it? I can really have them?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have put them on you otherwise." And he had plenty of other pairs in the Bentley. 

"Oh boy." He grinned as they slipped down a little, well-aware that Crowley didn't seem to like being thanked - on principle probably - so he figured a roundabout way to show his appreciation would be better. "I'll try and do them proper, demonic justice."

Crowley smiled, a little wicked and a lot pleased. "Not too proper a job or you'll upset my angel. The other three should help you find that balance."

"Yes, sir. Worry Wirt won't let me be too much of a handful anyway," he giggled, then scampered over to Mabel to show her the sunglasses up close. "Look!"

"Very impressive, corporal. You look just as cool as he does." She ruffled his hair, smile bright. "I'll be right back, though. Gotta get something from upstairs if they're leaving soon."

Crowley's brows lifted. He knew of her plans for Aziraphale's gift, but when on Earth had she had time? "Finished already, have you?" 

She laughed as she skipped out. "I'm practiced."

Aziraphale's gaze flicked from where she disappeared to and back to Crowley. "What was that all about? What do you know?"

Crowley shrugged, hands dipping into his pockets. "Bit of a broad question, seeing as I'm older than stars."

"Constellations," Dipper remembered, using it to distract from Mabel. He knew his twin would be nervous in her own way. She'd been nervous presenting Wirt with a sweater and this was an angel and a demon. When Crowley's brows arched, he continued. "Before you, uh, poofed into a snake, you said something about designing my birthmark."

"Did I? S'all a little fuzzy right around there, actually." He could hear the question in the statement, though, curiosity rarely something he wouldn't reward. Not when it was something so often punished. "I did, though, design it. Designed most of them, really, and definitely helped place them."

"Why? Like, what was even the point of making constellations?" 

That one, he almost didn't reward, though only the angel knew him well enough to know tension had crept into his casual stance. There was a lot he enjoyed about being a demon, but there had been one very specific thing he'd loved about being an angel. "The point was the stories." He kept his tone light, flippant, the ache buried so deeply even he couldn't feel it. "I could've added lines connecting them, but I didn't want to. She - the Almighty - would go on and on about how all of you were going to be _filled_ with creativity, and I wanted to see it. 

"And if you thank me for taking away those misplaced lines on your head, I _will_ remind you that I'm very much not an angel anymore."

"I wasn't going to," Dipper lied, smile betraying it. "But I think it was a pretty cool thing to do, giving people stories and art."

"I gave you the _option_. I put the dots in so you could draw the lines yourselves and the art and things started from there."

Aziraphale moved to stand right beside Crowley, on his right side, though didn't dare 'placate' him in front of the children by touching him overtly. Their elbows may have happened to brush, but that also could've been a trick of the eye. "You've always been fond of giving them options, my dear," he said fondly, bringing him back into the present. "Letting humans carve their own paths, as it were."

Knowing what he was doing, Crowley sent him a glance of _I'm fine_. The answering look of _You're not_ made him smile, tension bleeding out of him. "More fun that way, isn't it? You give them choices too."

"I try," he agreed. "And encourage as needed."

Though not as in tune with certain things pertaining to love and romance as Mabel was, the poet in Wirt did have an appreciation for it as well, and couldn't help a small, knowing glance at his own boyfriend. It reminded him a little of the glimpse into the future they'd gotten, whatever it was Crowley and Aziraphale had between them, except… still otherworldly. They could pass as humans at first glance - maybe even second and third - but there was a feeling to them that went beyond mortality that was… honestly inspiring. Just like the stars and their stories.

Maybe they'd given humanity the capacity for such long-standing devotion, too, either unwittingly or by example. Even without being overt about it in the slightest. Well, maybe a little bit overt.

"Oh my gosh, I leave for ten seconds and the mood gets serious," Mabel complained gustily, a slim box in her hands as she flounced back into the gift shop. "It was probably Dipper's fault."

"Hey!"

"Corporal, whose fault was it?" 

"Dipper's," Greg and Wirt replied in unison, sending him matching grins.

"I asked a _question_."

"You had an option, and you carved your own path with it," Greg giggled, patting his side. "Doesn't mean it was the right one."

"Alright, those sunglasses have messed with your head," Dipper teased, grinning at him anyway. "You're more demonic already."

"Angels give options, too!" Greg ducked away from him, just in case he tried to take his sunglasses. "They just said so."

"I have no idea what's happening, but I'm pretty sure I should be proud," Mabel decided with a laugh. 

"You would be. You brought chaos," Dipper playfully complained.

"Love is chaos, bro-bro. Poets wouldn't still be writing about it if it was something _easy_. Right, Wirt?" 

Wirt's lips quirked up, his mind working quickly. "Against sawtooth sharp rocks do crash, tumultuous waves, an ocean's grasp. Ever broken down to barest bones, sea salt sting between the gaps. True love will never be tepid." He glanced at Dipper, smile shy as a blush colored his cheeks. Normally he wouldn't let complete strangers hear something so personal, but… just this once couldn't hurt.

The angel certainly seemed to have enjoyed it, his hands clasped together as he'd listened intently. "Oh… oh, I don't recognize that. I've read a good deal of poetry, but that eludes me."

"I- uh… I made it up. Just now. Kinda. Yeah." Wirt cleared his throat, reflexively reaching for Dipper's hand.

"You made it up just now?" Aziraphale's eyes lit up, a bright smile breaking across his face. "Oh, you're very good!"

"I- I don't know about that…"

"I do." Dipper lifted Wirt's hand, kissing the knuckles. "I've been telling him that for ages."

His blush deepened. "You're biased," he complained.

"I'm right. Besides, you can't disagree with an angel who was around when poetry was _created_ , babe."

"Watch me." Wirt's eyes narrowed as he gave Dipper two beats to take back the petname. " _Kitten_."

Dipper gasped, horrified. " _Stop_."

Mabel positively cackled. "Oh, it's perfect. Good job, Wirt."

"Shut _up_!" 

"I did warn you," Wirt pointed out. "I think. I'm pretty sure I did before falling asleep." But there was a possibility that he did dream it, maybe. "I also have your permission. You know, from that day on the mountain with Multi-bear."

"That's so not fair!" 

Giggling, thrilled with these developments between two of her favorite people, Mabel bounced up to the angel and demon and finally offered the box. "Don't mind them and their eternal struggle over the best petnames. This is for you guys."

Tugged out of enjoying the flashes of love he felt sparking up around the teens, even under the perceived mortification, Aziraphale blinked down at the box. "For us? Oh, my dear girl, you don't need to give us anything." But he was intrigued as he held it in his hands, sensing love and care from within it as well.

Crowley looked at it suspiciously, feeling her nerves flicker. "How on Earth is it for both of us?" 

"You'll have to open it and find out. And if you don't like it, that's totally fine. I just- I wanted to."

Aziraphale shifted his gaze to Crowley, tutting at his suspicion before returning his warm smile to Mabel. "That's very kind of you. I'm intrigued. I don't know what it could possibly be." 

He carefully opened the top of it, moving to hand the lid to Crowley when the familiar pattern froze him in place. His tartan. His tartan was on a handmade jumper. It wasn't the only thing in the box either, but it was the one Aziraphale knew was meant for him.

"Did you make this? Why, it's extraordinary." He took it out to get a better look at it, noticing the piece meant for Crowley as well. "Oh, well now _that's_ …"

It made the demon laugh, plucking it up. It looked like a sleeve, solid black, soft as anything, and with a subtle shine from metallic red thread woven into it. And the inside of the collar had Aziraphale's tartan. "This is ridiculous."

She smiled, knowing it wasn't an insult. "Well, I didn't think you'd wear a whole sweater. But it gets cold in London and snakes are cold-blooded so..." She looked at Aziraphale, bouncing a little. "Do you really like it? Crowley helped me get the measurements the first time you hopped into Dipper's Mindscape and I snapped a few pictures of your bowtie to get the pattern right and the boys helped me a little bit while I finished it up yesterday. I got Crowley's done last night."

"I- Oh, yes, dear girl. I _do_ like it. You got the pattern perfectly right." And he was touched to see a touch of it on Crowley's collar, too, like she knew exactly what it meant. Perhaps she did. Unfortunately, looking at Crowley's sweater brought him back to another thing she'd mentioned… "You-" Aziraphale gaped at Crowley, unable to help it, and pressed the sweater over his chest protectively. "How _exactly_ did you help her get my measurements, Crowley? It's been centuries since we've last been to a tailor together!"

"You were technically discorporated, very distracted, and she had a tape measure."

"And he remembered basically every number."

"How _dare_ you."

Mabel only grinned. Crowley had never scared her. 

Aziraphale clutched the fabric tighter, his scandalized expression softening into something only mildly suspicious. "Is that so?" 

"Don't worry, Mr. Aziraphale," Greg giggled. "He didn't take your clothes off or anything."

"That's… very reassuring, Gregory," he said in a way that sounded like it wasn't as he grew a bit hot under the collar, adjusting his bowtie in hopes it would help. "Thank you. And, of course, thank you, Miss Mabel. I've had this tartan specially designed, so it means quite a lot to see the attention to detail and feel the love in each stitch. It will come most in handy during our colder months in London."

She whirled, pointing at her brother. "I _knew_ it was special!" 

He chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, all your fashion research. Clan Aziraphale paid off."

"No, don't call it that. Crowley's an equal part, so I had to come with something else."

"What are they then? Clan Crowphale?"

"Clan Aziracrow." Wirt grinned, bumping Dipper's hip.

"Clan Air Conditioning!" Greg chirped, then received blank looks all around. "What? If you take their first initials and write it A slash C, it looks like A/C which is air conditioning." Well, he thought it was pretty genius.

Mabel sent him an appreciative smile. She liked it too, but, "No, they're the Ineffable Clan."

"Oh, I do like that name." Aziraphale smiled a bit smugly as he glanced at Crowley. "I might be willing to consider that."

"Absolutely not." Crowley rolled up and tucked his sweater into his jacket pocket, where it fit as though there was nothing in the lining at all. He already wasn't looking forward to trying to teach Aziraphale how to use the camera on his phone to send the girl one a picture that winter. He wasn't going to suffer through a pun he hadn't devised.

"It's Aziraphale's pattern," Mabel argued, pleased with both reactions. "He gets deciding vote on the name."

"I'm in complete agreement." Aziraphale wiggled delightedly. "It _is_ my pattern. Though, my dear girl, how on Earth did you know I've given him tokens with my tartan before?"

"I made a very emotion-based guess and hoped. You're giving and he's your partner. You're family, aren't you? Plus, the way you go back and forth - of course you'd give him tartan if he teases you about it. It's very you guys."

Aziraphale flicked his gaze back to Crowley, keeping it to himself that while that may have been the case for all recent tartan embellishments, some of them had been intended to serve as a reminder that he wasn't alone. Even if they couldn't say anything, even if their side couldn't be acknowledged, it was a way for him to show what he couldn't otherwise express. Maybe Crowley took comfort in it, maybe he didn't, but it didn't matter now because it could be a way to tease him and claim him as part of his clan, all in one neat package.

"Well, you're very intuitive. And incredibly kind. You certainly didn't have to make us anything, but we do appreciate it." Aziraphale looked at the other three as well. "That goes for all of you. Your dedication to one another and your town is inspiring. We shan't forget it."

The twins exchanged looks, something in Dipper's half-shrug making Mabel nod and place her hands on her hips. "Nope because you're our friends now and we're good at keeping up long-distance friendships."

"Even when it sucks," Dipper agreed, slinging an arm around Wirt's waist. "You'll have to message us when you make it home like we make these guys do."

"I'm certain Crowley can somehow manage that with his mobile telephone," Aziraphale replied. "I prefer letters myself, but that's not quite as instantaneous, is it?"

"Not for a check-in, but pen pals are neat."

Crowley shook his head, amused. They were not. "I'll text you the bookshop address. Box that jumper back up, angel, and we can go."

Aziraphale folded it neatly and the box somehow looked like it had never been open, perfectly preserved to keep its contents in tip-top condition. "Yes, yes, Crowley. I'm ready," he sighed, as if the demon was rushing him. "Well, children, it was lovely meeting all of you. Do enjoy the rest of your summer, and carry on thwarting evil, yes."

"I like thwarting evil," Greg laughed. "Have a good flight back! Hope it's not too, too long."

"I'm sure they can make it go faster if they want to," Dipper mused, a little jealous as he thought of how long the flight to Paris had been. "But, yeah, we'll do what we always do. Helping's our thing."

Gesturing for Crowley to go first, Aziraphale followed him out the door and over to the Bentley. The kids watched from the porch as the angel took just a peek at his books before getting in the car himself, happily placing the box with his new sweater with them for the journey. He turned to face them for one last wave, his smile only brightening as he heard a soft sigh from the demon before he gave in and slid into the passenger seat beside him.

They all waved back, Mabel laughing when Crowley pushed on a fresh pair of sunglasses before zipping right out of the parking lot. "They're so married."

"Oh, yeah, obviously," Dipper agreed. They fist-bumped, life already going back to normal for them. 

At least as normal as Gravity Falls could be. 

\----

"It is rather convenient they've decided to serve our meal a few hours ahead of schedule, isn't it, Crowley?"

Settled in their seats on the plane, Aziraphale tucked into the truffle ravioli and cream sauce that had been brought out just as soon as the fasten seatbelt light had turned off. Their two sweet little bottles of wine had already been poured, Crowley's half-drained by the time Aziraphale looked over at him. He had to savor his first few bites, after all. It felt like ages since he'd had a proper meal, and in his opinion it was the only way to properly unwind and relax.

Well, maybe there was one other relatively new way that could be considered just as invigorating as food. He cleared his throat, then took a rather generous sip of his wine to account for the warmth his corporation insisted on feeling as memories from that morning played out in his mind. It couldn't quite account for his smile as he took in the slouch to Crowley's frame, somewhat wilting in the direction of the window.

He set his wine down and dabbed at his lips with the corner of his napkin. "How's your wine?"

"S'fine." It was a better vintage than the label said, just as Aziraphale's was, but he had better in his miniaturized Bentley. Preston Northwest was going to be a little upset when he found his wine cellar filled with bottles of water, but Crowley considered the little swap just a bit of mischief. "How's your very convenient meal?" 

" _Exquisite_." It wouldn't dare be anything less, especially with another Armaggeddon behind them. "Just what I needed. This should tide me over for the rest of the trip. Or at least until we reach the Atlantic." He'd chosen the aisle seat for a reason, after all. Easy access to wine, tea, and nibbles without having to disturb Crowley. "You look tired, dearest. Perhaps another nap might be in order."

"Considering it," he admitted, taking a sip of wine. He was just enjoying watching Aziraphale. Something about his absolute pleasure in every bite had always been very eye-catching. "We should do lunch at the Ritz tomorrow. My treat."

The angel practically melted at the suggestion, this time no effort made to mask the color in his cheeks. "Oh, we _should_. What a splendid idea. I do believe we deserve it after all of…" He waved his hand in a generic motion meant to encompass the events of the past few days. "...this."

"Obviously. It's where we went the last time, so it seems fitting." He smiled, gaze lingering on Aziraphale's lovely flush. "A regular Armageddon tradition."

"Good Lord. To think we've lived through enough attempts to bring about the end of all things to have a tradition for it," he tutted, smiling through his next sip of wine and allowed Crowley to look all he pleased. "Perhaps it can simply be _our_ tradition. To commemorate important milestones between us." 

"I think you might abuse that system just so I'll take you more often." Which was entirely unnecessary. "Unless you have milestones in mind?" 

"Well, the commitment to our side, for one. And cutting ties with Heaven and Hell respectively. We can count that as one," he reasoned, then fiddled with his wine stem as he offered up his next suggestion. "As for this time, er… I would say… what happened last night and this morning might count. More or less." 

Yes, obviously, but he'd meant future milestones. There was so much stretched out before them, so many possibilities. And all of them stirred Crowley's heart, forcing him to hide the way his smile softened in his wine. "I think they count, love."

It eased something in his chest to hear Crowley's easy acknowledgement and Aziraphale shifted a bit closer until their thighs pressed together. "Good. Glad we're in agreement. And I believe I can pinpoint a few others that would call for such celebration. When the time comes. I'll try not to take advantage of you, my dear," he teased, holding out his glass to toast Crowley, even if their wine was nearly gone.

"I suppose I can trust an angel. Mine, anyway." Crowley's was polished off after the delicate clink, but he set his glass down instead of refilling it. He did need another nap, knowing he wouldn't have gotten up so quickly in the first place if not for the novelty of Aziraphale sleeping with him. "Though I'll take you whenever you like, you know that. And I think, once upon a time, you suggested a picnic."

"I did," Aziraphale hummed, setting down his empty glass, too. "Summer's not over yet. Weather might be nice enough for a drive out to the countryside." He flicked his gaze to his demon. "I could pack us a lunch."

Crowley shifted, arm draping across Aziraphale's shoulders. "Alright. Trust me to pick the spot?" 

"If you trust me to pick the wine."

"You'd know what pairs best with whatever lunch you pack, so of course." He was angled more towards Aziraphale than the window now, the armrest between their seats long gone, and sleep definitely loomed. His hand slid down, the seat accommodating so Crowley could let it rest at his angel's waist. "So Ritz tomorrow, picnic in a few days?"

Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley's thigh, rubbing gently as he welcomed the openness between him and the demon. "That sounds lovely." Though to be honest, anything concerning the two of them together did.

Lifting his hand, he cupped Crowley's cheek and thumbed over the serpent tattoo, his new appreciation for the symbol bubbling up. He leaned in, then let his lips brush against his name, sweet and grateful for it. He pulled away after a long, lingering minute and eased back into Crowley's loose hold, tray miracled clean and back in its upright position so he had room for his book.

"Get some rest, dearest. I'll wake you when we begin our descent."

Crowley hadn't been planning on tipping his cheek onto Aziraphale's shoulder, but the sweet, lingering attention really gave him no other choice than to melt against him. "Ngk," he agreed, eyes closing as pages rustled. It was a familiar sound, more soothing than he would admit, but it was Aziraphale himself that let him sleep easily. He was just so wonderfully soft. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Just to level with everyone, we do not have the last chapter completed. It has a great big job to do in wrapping up the main part of the Mystery Best Friends saga. There are side stories out there (and who knows what may come in future?) but these 5 parts are it for the main storyline. That last chapter will be up as soon as we can manage it <3 Thanks everyone for all the patience, love, and support we've gotten so far!


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